


Wires

by Suli



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mutants, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mutant Powers, Technology, protect lee chan, some of the relationships are very background
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2019-07-03 07:25:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15814203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suli/pseuds/Suli
Summary: With nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, all Chan could do was endure. Endure, obey, and survive.





	1. Prologue

Tenso, Zuntai. The capital of a newly established nation that quickly became the technological innovation capital of the world, exporting everything from the newest in household appliances to the deadliest of weapons. Barely 20 years ago, the business leaders of the world came together united under a single, common goal: to create a global hub. Little did they know that the small landmass they acquired in East Asia would become a country of its own, one with a unique culture seeing as the majority of its citizens were either originally from North America or surrounding East Asian countries.

Tenso was a city that was always moving. No matter what the time or day, it was always developing, always evolving. Cars, all of which were top of the line and high end, were too expensive for the regular Joe, so the government created a public transportation system that remained to this day unparalleled by any other city in the world. Buses and trains could always be heard, no matter the hour of day or night, leaving streaks of light as they zoomed past. The brightly lit streets were often filled with people trying to get from Point A to Point B; always busy, always moving. Most of those people made Zuntai the nation it was. They were the architects and builders behind the bright skyscrapers lit by neon lights. They designed the roads so that they were practical and efficient. Every few streets, they placed small areas of greenery to break the monotony of the metal and plastic jungle, adding some life to the city.

 

To an outsider, the city appeared to be an urban paradise: active, happy, and bright. But there was a flaw. One secret the world seemed to simply turn a blind eye to.

 

Soon after Zuntai was established, strange things started to occur. A select few of the 25.5 million people populating the country developed strange abilities. Some could read others’ innermost thoughts, others could disappear at will. Some could run impossible speeds, others could project beams of pure energy from their palms. The population went into a panic, scared of the strange but undoubtedly powerful abilities the minority held. A sample of the affected were taken, with consent, to various hospitals for testing. All it took was a simple blood test to reveal a genetic mutation, one absent in the rest of the population. The affected minority were dubbed as mutants, shunned and discriminated against by the general public all across Zuntai.

The public never understood. They never took the time to realize that the mutants were just as scared as they were. In fact, they were _far_ more scared. They never took the time to understand that the mutants were not only terrified, they were confused. They didn’t understand what they were, and no one was willing to help them.

 

After that, things only ever went from bad to worse.

 

There was a lab, right on the outskirts of Tenso. It was generally ignored by the population as it looked like just another one of the many science and technology facilities that were scattered across the city. But the few people who worked in the lab knew exactly why it was a blessing that no one ever questioned the building.

A boy descended the stairs, fatigued and anxious as to what he was about to witness. He wanted nothing more than to climb back up those seemingly endless flights of stairs, hop on a bus, and head home to sleep. However, if he did so, the consequences would leave him pained, battered, and bruised for weeks.

He wasn’t the one pulling himself down those stairs – it was fear.

 

The boy stopped in front of the metal, soundproofed door, the sign beside it reading “Test Lab #33.” Closing his eyes, he took several deep breaths, trying to steady his beating heart and wipe his face clean of any residual fear. He knew exactly what he would be faced with when he walked through the heavy door, and yet, he was nowhere near ready.

But the choice wasn’t his to make.

 

Sound exploded around him as he walked through the door, despite the glass behind which he would be watching and observing. On the other side kneeled two, freshly caught mutants: one with superhuman strength, and the other with telekinesis. Around their necks were electric collars which served the purpose of data collection as well as punishment. The shocks making their entire bodies convulse were becoming stronger and stronger the longer they refused orders. It didn’t take long for them to crack, the telekinetic flinging one of the several metals cabinets at the other, who only managed to catch it in the final few seconds before it would have collided with the side of his head.

And so, without the consent of either party, the fight ensued.

 

“About time you made it,” spat Kyungmin, a bite to his voice. Lee Kyungmin was the head of operations at the lab, and big things were in store for him. To those who worked closely with him, he was a genius, a god, worthy of the utmost respect. To most others, he was dangerous, a man to be feared.

“Sorry Dad,” said the boy, training his eyes on the fight unfolding before him, knowing he would be berated if he looked away if even for a second.

“Have you taken your pills yet?”

“Yes, I took them this morning.”

Kyungmin breathed a satisfied sigh. “It’s incredible, don’t you agree Chan?”

Chan shifted uncomfortably, brain running at colossal speeds trying to figure out what answer would be most appropriate. He coughed, his throat suddenly becoming as dry and scratchy as sandpaper. In the end, he decided not to answer, considering that to be safest course of action.

“The power we could wield if we could just learn how their abilities manifest, and then harness it,” continued Kyungmin after a brief silence. “Zuntai would become the richest, strongest, best defended country that has ever and will ever exist. The incessant filth that pollutes our streets will soon become our most valuable resource.”

 

It wasn’t difficult for Chan to imagine the scene his father saw so clearly. He knew his father’s dreams and aspirations almost too well. Fueled by greed and a lust for power, Kyungmin would use any and every resource at his disposal, and that included Chan. Most 19-year-olds in Zuntai worried about their futures, their social relationships, their ability to be independent. Chan longed for those kinds of worries. Instead, he could only think about surviving each day without screwing up. Every mistake meant more pain, more work, and less rest. He had been dragged into his father’s dream without the chance to refuse, and every day he lived the consequences of that.

With nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, all Chan could do was endure. Endure, obey, and survive. It sounded simple enough, but to have to ignore his heart and mind that _screamed_ that was he was doing was wrong, it was a harder feat than he ever anticipated.

 

“Well?” came Kyungmin, shocking Chan out of his thoughts. He jumped, but was quick to compose himself, hiding behind his neutral, emotionless façade once more.

“Sorry Dad?” asked Chan, keeping the hammering of his heart that he simply couldn’t help from interfering with the stability of his voice.

“What do you think?”

No one else would’ve picked up on it, but within the question, there was a threat. He was luring Chan in with the opportunity to give his own opinion, but if he gave the wrong one, there would only be hell to pay.

“It’s incredible,” replied Chan curtly, feigning a small, weak smile.

“Good. Stay here until they’ve collected all the data they need. After that, tidy up after the freaks. Only then will you be dismissed and allowed to come home to eat, understood?”

“Understood,” answered Chan, voice almost a whisper.

 

When the door closed behind Kyungmin, Chan heaved a heavy sigh of relief. He could finally tear his eyes from the bloodied, tear-streaked, regretful, and apologetic faces of the two who had no choice but to beat each other until one of them physically couldn’t go on. A part of him wished he could view them the way his father did, as less than human. It would make every day so much easier. But he just _couldn’t_.

Chan had read up about the two mutants on the other side of the glass. He knew that the telekinetic was a single father, his son the light of his life. He knew how he endured back-breaking physical labor and cripplingly long work hours _just_ to make sure his four-year-old son would never have to go through the hardships he did. The man with superhuman strength lived alone, but whenever he saw someone in need, no matter who it was, he would go out of his way to help them. Despite the prejudice against mutants, Chan was willing to bet all he had that everyone in that man’s neighborhood, mutant or not, wouldn’t be able to deny his kindness and genuineness.

The two men weren’t criminals. They never did anything wrong in their lives. It was very likely they were probably more innocent than the average non-mutant Tenso resident. And yet, here they were: hunted, imprisoned, and tortured.

 

Regret washed over Chan like a tsunami, twisting his already knotted stomach tighter and tighter. He felt regret for being too scared to leave with his mother when she left Kyungmin and moved back to Korea. He regretted the countless lies he had to build just to hide his father’s merciless, selfish actions. He regretted never defending any of the mutants he saw being mistreated.

But most of all, he regretted not standing up for himself and what he believed to be right or wrong. That particular regret was like an old tree, its countless branches winding all the way to infinity. It haunted Chan every living minute of every day, persistent and unshakeable.

 

Because if he simply stood his ground, Kyungmin would never have trusted him enough to give him that assignment. If he stood up instead of hiding down, it wouldn’t be his fault the two mutants had waiting for them a fate worse than death itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for supporting this fic!


	2. A Shift

Frustration had become such a common, yet such an unwelcome emotion. Lying somewhere in between anger and discouragement, it is only ever consuming and difficult to manage. It is internal, inexpressible irritation that somehow doesn’t lead to the often-inevitable admission of defeat. For Seungcheol, the bubbling, fiery feeling arose from uncountable roots that were always growing in number. There were the ever-increasing demands despite the time that always seemed to be diminishing. There was the mountain of circumstances that always proved to be an obstacle, but simply couldn’t be helped. But most of all, there was the constant reminder of the fact that despite the persistent backbreaking effort, the chance of success remained remote.

In his current situation, the cause behind Seungcheol’s frustration was simple, yet no less maddening. He felt his brain tying up into knots as he tensed the muscles in his jaw until they ached. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton, the heavy dryness appearing out of nowhere and making him yearn for a cup of water. As his heart beat faster and faster, all he could focus on was keeping it all hidden deep beneath his skin.

 

Seungcheol detested passiveness more than almost anything, but he knew Nephele too well to blame them for it.

 

Nephele – the appointed chair of the safehouse Seungcheol had helped establish – was a cloud child, possessing one of the rarest abilities. While no mutant in Zuntai was a stranger to cruelty and prejudice, they knew it better than most. Their 196 centimeters made them a giant amongst most, but a runt amongst fellow cloud children. Fitting in was impossible, but to someone like Nephele, that wasn’t the issue. Not only were they a cloud child, but an empath as well. The biting hate, prejudice, even envy – they felt it all. They felt their parents’ disappointment, the population’s loathing, and all mutants’ despair. But it was the crippling sensation of unsafety that made them crack, recklessly leaving home at the tender age of 76 – far too young for a cloud child. When they found Seungcheol and his friends and learned of their plans to protect each other and anyone else in Tenso who needed it, Nephele didn’t hesitate to help.

Cloud children naturally fell on the more passive side of the spectrum, but after all Nephele had endured and coupled with their rare empath abilities, they became almost impossible. They were idealistic, yet unwilling to act to create the ‘ideal’ world they saw.

Seungcheol wasn’t like that at all, he was a realist through and through. He and Nephele both shared the same vision, the same goal, but of the two, Seungcheol was the only one who saw the ever-growing list of obstacles to overcome whereas Nephele always seemed to turn a blind eye to them.

 

“Nephele…” he started, trying his hardest to keep his voice soft and level despite the frustration bubbling just beneath his skin. He had known Nephele for three years and knew the second his voice rose would be the second the cloud child closed up on him.

“Seungcheol,” they sighed, interrupting him. Closing their eyes, they placed a pale, bony hand on their temple, strands of their soft, short blonde hair falling to hide half of their face. “Please. We have to move again.”

“We can’t keep running Nephele,” insisted Seungcheol. “If we do, we’ll never stop. Things have only been getting worse for us.”

“And they’ll continue to get worse. All we can do is try to stay one step ahead of them. We’ve almost hit full capacity here anyway.”

“It’s different now Nephele,” started Seungcheol, bending down slightly to meet their eyes. “These days, more of us need asylum than ever. More of them have come from the villages expecting a better life but ending up on the streets. No matter where we move, we’ll never be able to protect them all. Running will only get us so far. Nephele, we need to _act_.”

“And what do you suggest we do?” Nephele had a unique way of speaking, making their questions sound more like statements.

 

Seungcheol fell silent, leaning back against his seat and exhaling heavily. If he was honest with himself, he had expected Nephele to ask that question but thought that if he hoped hard enough, they wouldn’t ask it. Truth be told, he had no idea what course of action he wanted to take. All that he had been thinking about was getting Nephele to change their mind about moving.

He sat perfectly still in his chair as a short but intense wave of fear washed over him, all but paralyzing him. Running shaking fingers through his already messy hair, he bit his lip almost hard enough to draw blood. His heart was pounding against his ribs loud enough to hear, and all he could think was that he _had_ to somehow convince Nephele not to move again.

Because he knew what moving entailed, and after last time, he wasn’t about to sign up for another repeat. Last time involved one too many cold nights underneath gloomy, grimy bridges. Last time involved being completely separated from his friends, who he considered family, leaving him unable to sleep from the icy anxiety. Last time involved him coming far too close to losing Joshua. Even now, it was something that made his heart burn whenever it crawled its way back up from the depths of his memories.

 

“I know you want to act,” Nephele said curtly, their strangely cold grey eyes burning into him. “I know you’re scared and frustrated. But I also know there’s a determination in you stronger than most people alive on this planet.”

Seungcheol squirmed uncomfortably. Being read by Nephele wasn’t necessarily unpleasant, but by no means was it the most enjoyable thing Seungcheol had the pleasure of experiencing.

“If there’s anyone capable of efficient action, it’s you.”

“So why won’t you listen to me?” said Seungcheol in a low, empty voice. Though there was little point anymore, Seungcheol continued trying to suppress the physical tells of his frustration. With Nephele, he had to be sensitive, no matter what. Knowing what they came from, he never minded. But he couldn’t deny, sometimes, it was difficult.

“Because you don’t have a plan,’ replied Nephele. “I trust you Seungcheol, but I can’t drop everything because you want to do _something_. If you can figure out what the something is, I’ll consider it.”

 

Seungcheol’s sigh made his body appear to deflate, his back hunching and shoulders shrinking. The tension had lifted but left him with a sense of melancholy and defeat rather than relief.

Nephele extended their arm to place a hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder as a token of sympathy. They saw where Seungcheol’s argument stemmed from but couldn’t agree with such a reckless plan. After all, they learned to fear recklessness the hard way.

“I’ll try to spare you around two more weeks,” they offered. “I understand you don’t want to risk so much again, but right now it’s our only option.”

 

Seungcheol nodded, standing up to leave the room. As he was closing the door behind him, his grip on the door handle like a vice, he met Nephele’s eyes somberly.

“I hope I can change your mind,” he said resolutely, the clicking of the door falling shut acting as the full stop to his statement.

 

 

Seungcheol’s mind was silent as he robotically weaved through the dim corridors until he found himself at the door of his dorm. The five-minute walk was a complete blur to him. Too many nights with barely enough sleep to keep him on his feet were beginning to take a toll on him. He yearned for a plush, warm bed to drift off in, but these days, such things were a luxury.

He was happy to see that all 11 of his friends were in one space, relaxed as they listened to Hansol share another one of his stories. _‘At least there’s peace here,’_ he thought to himself. For some reason, no matter how temporary or small their accommodation tended to be, the boys always found ways to make the place feel bright and homey. A hotchpotch of pillows of all sizes, shapes, and colors were strewn on the floor, making up for the single worn down sofa that could never in a million years seat all twelve of them. One day, Minghao had decided that the few, dim light bulb that hung sadly from the ceiling were far too gloomy and came back having somehow acquired a few strings of fairy lights, which made the previously dark dorm just a little brighter and warmer. There were almost as many throw blankets as there were pillows, which were left in the living room after the group realized it was far more comforting to sleep there rather than in their own small, cold bedrooms.

 

Seungcheol didn’t say anything at first, closing the door quietly and leaning back against it. Wonwoo was the only one who noticed him entering, giving him a quick smile but saying nothing. The eldest took the opportunity to look on fondly at his closest friends, not daring to disrupt their quiet, small happiness just yet.

Wonwoo and Junhui were the only two on the sofa, Junhui’s head in Wonwoo’s lap, eyes awake and alert, but soft. Minghao was leaning into Mingyu’s side, his arms winding lazily around the other’s waist, a blanket draped loosely around their shoulders. Soonyoung’s body appeared relaxed, but the wall-crawler’s eyes were as energetic and fiery as ever, his laughs the loudest of them all. Seungkwan had his head on Seokmin’s shoulder, the elder’s arm pulling him closer into his side as they both looked on fondly at Hansol, eyes filled with adoration.

Seungcheol’s heart ached just a little when his eyes fell on Jihoon and Jeonghan. Jihoon was seated in between the elder’s legs, his back resting against his chest as Jeonghan intertwined his fingers with the younger’s gloved ones. Everyone knew how Jihoon hated his ability and how he was forced to wear specially tailored black gloves because the acid that generated from his palms just didn’t seem to have an off-switch. But Jeonghan never let those thoughts grow too far, gently kissing and whispering his insecurities away.

 

Observing the scene before him, a sense of calm washed over Seungcheol’s body, cooling his burning, frayed nerves. Wordlessly, he walked up to Joshua, crouching down behind him and kissing him just below the ear as he pulled him into his chest. Joshua melted against him, humming contentedly and craning his neck to better look at Seungcheol with a small, sleepy smile on his face.

“How’d it go?” he asked softly, eyes idly scanning Seungcheol’s face.

Hansol had fallen silent once he saw that Seungcheol had returned. There were 11 pairs of eyes trained on Seungcheol now, eagerly awaiting a response. Were it anyone else, Seungcheol would’ve instantly felt uncomfortable; but with the group, being in the spotlight never felt predatorial or tense. He sighed heavily, arms unconsciously tightening around Joshua’s torso.

“Not great, huh,” said Jeonghan, receiving a tired nod of agreement in response.

“We’re still moving?” asked Joshua, fear flashing across his eyes for a split-second, making Seungcheol instinctively place a soothing kiss on his temple. Joshua remembered last time all too well, and though he rarely, if ever, let it show, he was terrified of having to potentially go through it again.

“Nephele wants a plan,” explained Seungcheol. “They think we could succeed but won’t drop their plans unless we come up with a better one.”

“How long do we have?” asked Junhui, propping himself up on an elbow.

“Two weeks, maybe less. Probably less,” replied Seungcheol, trailing off.

“Do you think we can figure something out in that time?” asked Mingyu.

Seungcheol sighed, lightly shaking his head as his shoulders crept to his ears. “Honestly, I have no idea.”

 

The group fell into a despondent silence, the smell of despair heavy in the air. Joshua brought his knees up into his chest, back curving tightly. Seungcheol didn’t have to be an empath to see his fear, it was evident in the way his teeth played at the very inside edge of his lips and how his eyes remained trained on a single spot, wide and scarily still. Gently massaging his tight shoulders, Seungcheol leaned forward to kiss the edge of Joshua’s jawline, tenderly bringing the younger out of his paralyzed state.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered regretfully. “I should’ve come up with something before I went to see them.”

Joshua smiled softly, resting his head underneath Seungcheol’s chin. “It’s okay Cheollie, it’s not your fault. We’ll figure something out.”

 

The silence continued for a few more moments, everyone desperately thinking, their gears turning so quickly they could almost catch fire. It was only broken when Seokmin suddenly hissed, a chill running through him. Impulsively, Seungkwan held onto the elder’s wrist in comfort as a weak tremor shook his body for a few quick, fleeting moments.

Seokmin was a probability manipulator, and despite his young age, managed to quickly master his ability in a way that few probability manipulators could. He could only manipulate the probability sphere three times a day but no matter what could always sense significant changes to it.

“Seok, are you okay?” asked Hansol softly, concerned. It was rare that the shifts affected Seokmin physically anymore.

Seokmin nodded exhaling shakily. “I’m fine,” he said, quickly pulling out his phone. “Something’s shifted.”

 

The group waited with baited breath as Seokmin scanned through various news sources, something he had down to an art form. This time, however, he was about to give up as he ran out of sources to check. Just as he was about to exhale in frustration, the notification came through, ringing through the small, tense dorm. Everyone’s hearts stopped as Seokmin’s face fell.

“Shit,” he cursed, eyes focused and body tight as he read through the article. He didn’t even realize he was holding his breath until Hansol’s hand met his knee, distracting him momentarily.

 

When Seokmin’s eyes lost the intense fire that drowned out the comforting warmth that typically radiated from them, Soonyoung finally spoke up.

“What is it?” he asked softly.

“They have a ministry now,” replied Seokmin, fighting to sort through his racing thoughts. Seungkwan’s fingers tracing patterns in his back was doing wonders to help. “‘The Ministry of Mutant Control’ it’s called. They have a task force to catch mutants.”

“How?” asked Minghao. “What do they do with them?”

“I don’t know, it doesn’t say. Nothing good I’d expect.”

“Maybe this means we _should_ move,” mumbled Jihoon, nervously playing with Jeonghan’s fingers through his gloves as he sat deep in thought, brows furrowed.

“No,” disagreed Mingyu, “They’d catch us.”

“Mingyu’s right,” explained Wonwoo, biting on his thumb as he thoughts. “We’re a lot of people. Someone’s bound to notice something suspicious.”

“Things really are getting even worse,” whispered Seungcheol under his breath.

“How long do you think we have?” asked Junhui. “Until they find this place?”

“Don’t think like that Jun,” said Minghao, closing his eyes as though to erase to thought from his head.

 

“I need to get to work,” mumbled Seungcheol, unintentionally vocalizing his thoughts.

“No, what you need is rest,” said Jeonghan, eyes caring yet sharp nonetheless. “We all do.”

“Jeonghan, we don’t have time,” argued Seungcheol.

“Cheol, we have two weeks. You can take at least one night off to get some sleep.”

“We might not even _have_ two weeks.”

“Don’t try to argue with him Seungcheol,” commented Mingyu, already pulling Minghao back into his side. “You won’t win.”

 

As though to prove Mingyu’s point, Jeonghan reached to the side and threw a throw blanket at Seungcheol and Jisoo, a mischievous smile on his face.

“Sleep. Now,” insisted Jeonghan, lying down on his side himself, bringing a smiling Jihoon down with him.

 

Seungcheol rolled his eyes in mock exasperation as he wrapped the blanket around him and Joshua. It didn’t take much for sleep to wash over him. No matter what was going on in the outside world, their dorm had become a haven for the 12 boys. It was warm, cozy, and most importantly, it was where they all had each other. Yes, they were almost always scared. Yes, they had to go without food during particularly difficult weeks. Yes, the pressures placed upon them were almost too much to bear. But the second they walked into the dorm, they were reminded that they were never alone in facing it all. That, at the very least, made it all bearable.

 

As Hansol turned off all the lights, cloaking the room in a thick, ink darkness, Seungcheol pulled Joshua closer into his chest. He let his eyes flutter shut as he finally surrendered to the pull of sleep.

 

The outside world could wait for a few hours. Compared to this, it really wasn’t all that important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos, bookmarks, and feedback are always appreciated! i love hearing what you guys think and a lot of the time it even helps me figure out how to progress the story!


	3. The Cat and The Tiger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after seven million ten thousand years i finally have an update

Perched beside his window, overlooking the glow of the city at night, Chan realized he envied the average Tenso citizen. Well, envy wasn’t quite the proper word, but something of the sort. He certainly didn’t envy their blind prejudice, nor their close-mindedness. But as the saying goes, ignorance is bliss.

They could live their lives with peace of mind, entirely oblivious to the horrors that the government encouraged and perpetuated. Yes, the had other burdens and worries, but Chan would gladly take those over the suffocation, the guilt, the pain that he was forced to consider normal.

 

He hated himself for the things he did, but continued to do them anyway, because he didn’t think he’d be able to handle the alternative.

 

The chime of a phone filled the previously quiet room, alerting Chan to a received text message. He simply stared at it for a few moments, sitting on his bed where he left it, right beside his pillow. Reluctantly, wearily, he stood up to go grab it, hoping with all his heart that it wasn’t his father. It was foolish to even wish for that in his wildest dreams; who else would possibly be texting him t this hour?

Tapping the screen awake, Chan inwardly groaned as he read the short, curt message. In fact, it wasn’t really a message, more a command.

**_“Basement. Now. Bring what we discussed.”_ **

 

Chan closed his eyes and exhaled heavily, exhausted and entirely void of energy. He simply stayed standing still until the count of 15, letting the frustration and dread wash over him in pulsating, icy chills, numbing his mind. At this point, dread all but owned Chan, pushing against him like a gust of wind trying to fix his feet to the ground. It set his face like rigor mortis, his teeth clenched tightly together. But unless it could turn back time and reverse all his previous choices, it held little power.

Exhaling again, running his hands through his disheveled hair, Chan picked up the bottle that had almost been forgotten inside his bedside table’s drawer and made his way downstairs.

 

The house was likely one of the most beautiful in all of Zuntai. It sat atop the highest hill in the neighborhood, giving it the look of a strange crown. It was large, so much so it could probably fit around five of the ordinary houses in the neighborhood. It was the kind of house that anyone would wish to live in, no matter their personal tastes. Chan couldn’t disagree, it was a beautiful house, decorated exquisitely and a wonderful blend of a modern and antique. Were Chan’s life different, he might have once loved the place.

 

Because in a different life, the basement wouldn’t exist.

 

The basement was like a twisted nightmare embedded into the sweetest dream. A new horror welcomed Chan every time he went down there, and there was no knowing what he would find. Every time he thought he had been desensitized to everything and anything, something new would burn itself into his memory, keeping him up all night for weeks.

 

When Chan pulled open the heavy fortified steel door, the first thing that hit him was the stench of blood, a sickeningly dry, sweet, metallic smell. It was vilely pungent, its somehow caustic nature smothering Chan’s senses and almost suffocating him.

When the wave of disgust passed, Chan heard the screams.

 

They were primal, holding a raw intensity that told of urgency, of desperate need. The grating quality to the sound made it clear that it was an infant releasing those cries of agony. The wails came from a place of terror and told of a confused mind lost in absolute fear. It didn’t sound like the infant was even pausing for breath.

Chan’s heart dropped. One of the mutants his father kept down there had been pregnant. He knew she wasn’t going to survive the pregnancy, but he didn’t expect the infant to either.

 

“Chan is that you?” called Kyungmin, shocking Chan out of his frozen state. He sounded incredibly unfazed, casual even, considering the entire situation.

“Yes it’s me,” replied Chan, swallowing the tremble in his voice.  Dislodging his feet which had been plastered to the ground, he made his way down the final few steps and towards the table his father was standing at, fighting the urge to gag as the metallic reek only got stronger.

 

On the table, there laid the howling infant, lazily wrapped in a coarse towel. In the far corner of the room, not far from the table, laid the lifeless body of the mother. Chan’s heard ached as he guessed that she had likely given birth inside the cage, with no one to really help her. The other few mutants were staring at the ground, their sniffles and sobs of fear and grief muffled as much as possible, not that they could be heard over the screaming.

“Don’t look so shocked Chan,” said Kyungmin, looking at the infant cold-heartedly. “Babies always cry and scream after they’re born. In fact, they do it for most of their infancy.”

“I know,” replied Chan, hands balled into tight fists at his side. “I’m uh… I’m just not so sure if it’s normal for them to scream like _that_.”

“Well of course _not_ Chan, don’t be foolish. This is a mutant. It’s bound to scream more. It’s an unnatural being.”

“What’s going to happen to them?”

“It’s going to be raised in the lab. We need it to further our research.”

Chan made an obscure sound, trying to swiftly put an end to the conversation. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground a few feet in front of his, waiting until he was given orders or asked to leave. His mind was a swirling, nervous mess, one that he pushed down until there was no chance of it escaping.

 

“The infant barely survived. In fact, it shouldn’t have.”

Chan froze, his eyes widening despite himself. Kyungmin had some sort of system for feeding the mutants that were kept down here, but Chan knew it wasn’t nearly enough for them to hold on to any strength. The could survive for a few days without food, but it wouldn’t be a pleasant experience, to say the least. So, Chan snuck them whatever food he could. It was mostly stale break and vegetable scraps, but it was better than nothing.

“If I catch you sneaking food again you’ll wish you were never born. Got it?”

“Yes,” said Chan with a small nod. “Sorry.”

 

“Do you have what I asked for?” asked Kyungmin after an irritated huff.

Chan held up the dark green bottle of pills and reach out his arm to give it to Kyungmin, but his father simply pushed it back. Chan looked up, confused.

“Those are your new pills,” explained Kyungmin. “You’re to take those from now on. Same dosage.”

“How’ve they been changed?”

Kyungmin’s eyes narrowed in vexation. “You don’t have to know that. Just take them. If you make this harder than it has to be, you will never hear the end of my complaining.”

Chan nodded, very aware of the hidden threat behind those words. He gulped and stuffed the pills back in his pocket. He didn’t exactly know what those pills were for, but he had enough of an idea to know that Kyunmin’s ‘upgrade’ couldn’t have been anything good.

But he would take them diligently anyway.

 

“Let’s cut to business, shall we?” started Kyungmin, retrieving a tablet from the lab bench beside the stairs down which Chan descended. He walked leisurely, as though he were taking a midnight stroll through the neighborhood. And yet, authority practically radiated from him with every footfall.

“You’re going on another assignment,” continued Kyungmin. Chan didn’t so much as bat an eyelash in response. He had anticipated this and was just relieved the conversation came to it sooner rather than far, far later.

And yet, his stomach began writhing like a snake twisting around itself in tight knots. There was a glint in Kyungmin’s eyes, a cold metallic glint. It was a glint that reflected the cruel excitement that was building up and coursing fervently through his veins.

Chan had lived long enough that this was how things typically went horribly wrong.

 

“Have you heard of Specialized Videotape Technologies?” asked Kyungmin. The name was vaguely familiar, the sort of thing you’d see as you roamed through the streets on the bus late at night, but nothing to associate any memories with. Chan shook his head, confused.

“It was quite a quaint little shop. It was open for a few years before closing down. And yet, we’ve observed people coming in and out of it every now and again. Can you guess why that is?”

 

Chan was tired, and because of that, he committed his first mistake of the night. He shrugged his shoulders up to his ears and shook his head slightly.

“I dunno,” he muttered. “They’re refurbishing the place?”

Chan didn’t get to make those kinds of careless comments. He was meant to shake his head and bite back the words he wanted to say. But his tongue was faster than his brain, and the punishment for that was a swift, stinging smack upside the head.

“Don’t be foolish,” warned Kyungmin, a bitter note to his voice. “This is business.”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” mumbled Chan, rubbing the back of his scalp to soothe the biting sting.

“Are you ever?” muttered Kyungmin exasperatedly, rolling a hand over his closely cropped hair in frustration. He continued, his voice noticeably more agitated.

 

“They’re hiding mutants. Lots of them. It’s like an anthill: the storefront is just that, a front. Underneath it lies a whole other world where mutants are being illegally stored.”

 _‘Stored,’_ echoed Chan in his mind. The word sent icy chills up and down his spine. It astounded Chan how his father could look at people who were more alike than unlike him and reduce them to something far less than human.

“It’s a safe house,” offered Chan, wanting to accelerate the conversation so he could leave the basement as soon as possible.

“That’s right. And _you’re_ going to storm it.”

 

Chan’s head snapped up so quickly he was surprised none of the muscles had strained. He had helped his father on several an occasion: hacking, scouting, acting as backup, even occasionally catching a few mutants himself. But never did he have to lead a team to conduct a large-scale capture alone, something he was very grateful for.

“W-what?” stammered Chan, lost for words.

“You’ve been training for this all your life Chan. They would never suspect a thing. An easy job if there ever was one.”

Chan remained silent. His body became a vessel for a variety of different emotions. Anxiety, despondence, exhaustion, and anger. One thought was screaming at him in his mind, drowning out any other sound.

_‘You’re threatening millions of lives! Think about your goddamn actions for once in your fucking life!”_

 

“Our finest men will be put on the job. Our most trustworthy ones. This will be big for us, Chan,” mused Kyungmin.

Chan’s mind was static. _‘You’ve left me to fend for myself since I was 12 years old! You think I can trust some sick fucking strangers with my life?! Do you really believe that?’_

 

“That’s comforting,” mumbled Chan, lying straight through grit teeth.

“You don’t understand,” started Kyungmin, a cruel smile on his face. “They aren’t there to protect you. You’re there for _their_ protection.”

Chan froze, his entire body going still. His heart pounded in his ears, his hands shaking so hard he had to dig his fingernails deep into the skin of his palms.

“You’re a child, Chan. Should anything go wrong, you’re a perfect tool to use.”

 

Chan gulped and nodded, the action his only option. He hated everything about the plan and it wasn’t even entirely unfurled yet. But to let that slip would be an invitation for death to take him that very instant.

“That will be all for now. Make sure all the locks are on tight before you leave. Lock the door behind you.”

 

Kyungmin turned to leave without so much as a goodbye. He was less than a foot from the door before Chan called out to him.

“Dad?” he asked, a question sitting so heavily in his stomach he _had_ to ask it. “Do you ever feel, uh… guilty? About any of this.”

There was a pregnant pause, and Chan didn’t dare look up. He could feel his father’s paralyzing gaze burning into the side of his head.

“Lee Chan,” started Kyungmin, voice calm but deadly. “You could sooner divert a river from its course than keep me from fulfilling what I’ve set out to do. You were born to a family of tigers. Stop acting like a damn house cat.”

 

The basement door closed with a slam, and Chan let out a sigh. He moved quickly, wanting to get the hell out of there and into bed as soon as possible. He wanted to push away all the thoughts and fears swirling through his head until he couldn’t anymore. He just wanted rest.

When he got to the last cage, gently pulling on the lock to make sure it was on tight, he felt skinny fingers envelop his hand. This mutant, Chan had sort of befriended. He never was able to learn her name but had taken to calling her Ember. She was an old woman, somewhere in her 70s, and was a fire manipulator. She was kind, comforting, and wise. Any other night, Chan would’ve loved to talk to her, to let her ease his mind a little bit, but not tonight. He was far too drained.

 

“Can you say you’re proud of me Ember?” asked Chan with a bitter laugh. “After that disaster? I sure as hell aren’t.”

“It can’t be helped Chan,” she said. “You know your father. I’ve seen many a man like him in my day, and the old saying stands for all of them. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”

Chan shook his head sadly and heavily. “The question isn’t if an old dog can learn new tricks. The question is if I’m willing to put in the time and risk my life to change his stupidly preconceived notions.”

Ember looked down, thinking over Chan’s words. Chan held her hand in both of his for a second before stepping away, walking towards the door.

 

“I’ll see what I can do tomorrow,” he said softly, at a loss about he was going to feed them now.

“Just stay safe,” said Ember, giving him a small warm smile. Sometimes, she’d remind him of his mother, and his heart would clench. “Go.”

 

////

 

Seokmin sat up completely tensed, his hand clamped tightly over his mouth as the violent tremors shook his body aggressively. His muscles felt as though they were on fire, clenching and unclenching with every shake. When they finally went limp, Seokmin let out the breath he had been holding, chest heaving as he sucked in as much air as he could. This was worse than the previous time; worse than any time, in fact.

 

“Something’s shifted,” he whispered into the night air, heart still beating hard and fast against his ribcage as though it were playing a beat of warning.


	4. Lightness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe i'm very proud of this chapter???

The alarm sounded like the horn of a juggernaut, blaring and unceasing. Chan had set it after his father suggested he sleep for a few hours; there was no guarantee he’d get any sleep when he got back. But he didn’t need the alarm. He hadn’t even been able to close his eyes.

 

The past four days had been spent in preparation for this very night.  Grueling physical training took up most of the time, but a basic plan was put in place nonetheless. It wasn’t enough for Chan, who liked to know _exactly_ what he was walking into. Not that he wanted to do any of this anyway, but if he really had to he’d enjoy the small comfort of a precise, detailed plan.

But it was too late for that. The night he’d been dreading had arrived and he could hardly stop the setting of the sun. Everything hinged on what he did, on how well he performed his role, and once done it can never be undone. Throughout the evening, he wasn’t able to think straight. He’d put his phone in a drawer, and then panicked when he couldn’t find it. His hands were spread like pale starfish on his knees, and they were cold, resisting any warmth that might have been trying to seep into them. After glancing in the mirror, he saw he looked gaunt, exhausted. Maybe he should’ve just tried to sleep.

 

In any case, it was too late now. Far, far too late.

 

Chan silenced the alarm and released one final, long breath. He didn’t have to do anything other than step downstairs; he was already dressed, already equipped with anything and everything he might need. But to take that one step felt like the most difficult action in the universe.

This was the night he would storm a safehouse. This was the night he would potentially have to hurt someone. This was the night where success determined his life from here on out.

 

As expected, his father was at the foot of the stairs when he descended. He was discussing the plans with one of the men who’d be going along. Chan hadn’t bothered to learn any of their names. He didn’t want to.

“Did you rest well?” his father asked him once he was down the steps. Chan knew that he was only asking out of a feeling of necessity, that there was genuineness behind his words; and yet he clung onto them like a child clinging to his favorite blanket.

“Yes,” lied Chan curtly.

“What is your job tonight?”

Chan felt his father’s eyes stare straight into him, making him feel impossibly small and insignificant.

“Go through all the rooms. Make sure no one’s left hiding,” replied Chan. He knew why his father gave him such a minor job compared to the rest and didn’t blame him. Kyungmin simply didn’t trust him to be as ruthless as was needed.

 

“Good. Do you have everything you need?”

“Yes.”

“Is your gun prepped and ready?”

Chan nodded and took out his pistol from the holster strapped to his upper thigh for his father to see. He prayed Kyungmin wouldn’t ask to check it himself. He wanted to leave the tense atmosphere that made the large foyer feel overpoweringly small and couldn’t afford his father wondering why the pistol felt several pounds too light.

It was the only bit of luck Chan would have all night.

 

Kyungmin looked at his watch and addressed the group, his air of authority growing so large it made him look untouchable.

“You leave now. I expect consistent updates. This job is the most important we’ve had and is the first I’m orchestrating as the Minister of Mutant Control. Do _not_  fuck this up. Understood?”

 

Chan muttered a ‘yes’ that was considerably softer than that of the other men. He kept his eyes trained straight ahead of him, avoiding his father’s merciless stare. To anyone else, the scene would look quite comical. Chan was a child of 19 among men who had been training and fighting since before he was born. Were anxiety not sitting thick in his stomach like tar, Chan might have laughed.

 

In the government provided van, Chan stared out the window, expressionless as he observed the brightly lit streets of Tenso rush past. The men around him were loud, joking and conversing in such a carefree manner it confused Chan. How come they weren’t half as apprehensive as he was?

All that Chan could think of, all that filled his mind, heart, and body was the fact that a war was about to break out. A big one, the first in Zuntai’s history. One that the nation’s people wouldn’t even know was happening. And whether he liked it or not, Chan was a soldier in this war.

He’d always been told he was on the right side, the good side, the side that would save Zuntai and its people. But lately, Chan wasn’t so sure of that anymore.

 

Chan wasn’t so sure of anything he’d ever been told by anyone anymore.

 

////

 

Seokmin had been weak for days. The previous shift had taken a lot out of him. He’d forgotten what if felt like to be so affected by a shift, not that he ever wanted a reminder. It was a crushing pain on one side of his head that came and went whenever it pleased. It made him want to pace because he just couldn’t relax, but any movement would send spikes and daggers throughout the left side of his skull and a blinding white would obscure his vision. He absolutely hated it.

His friends were worried, Seokmin could see it in the way they moved, in the way the tiny muscles in their faces were perpetually tensed. Seungkwan and Hansol hadn’t left his side for more than thirty minutes at a time, not even when he asked them to.

 

The question on everyone’s minds was simple: _what_ had shifted so strongly that Seokmin was too weak to move? There was no doubt that the shift was negative, if it weren’t then the whole safe house would be rejoicing. Nephele would have told Seungcheol the second anything changed for the better.

No matter how hard they looked, they found nothing. They looked for days and nights on end, but there was nothing to suggest a threat.

 

Today, Seokmin was finally well enough to move. His head still ached, the pain relentless and unyielding, but it had dimmed significantly. He had been completely out of the loop for the past few days, his friends not wanting to share anything lest it aggravate his condition. Perhaps they had a point, because it was a shock when they _did_ share it.

 

“Nothing?!” he exclaimed, eyes wide in shock as he stared at the eleven exhausted faces surrounding him.

“Nothing Seok,” replied Jeonghan, faint purple discoloration coloring his lower eyelids. “There’s absolutely nothing to find.”

“No…” started Seokmin, stuttering slightly. “There’s no way. I _felt_ it.”

“We know,” said Hansol in a soothing voice. “But just because we didn’t find anything doesn’t mean something isn’t going on.”

“Which is concerning,” muttered Seungcheol, chin resting firmly on his hands. “We shouldn’t be walking into anything completely blind like this. Not with that Ministry.”

“We can’t help it Cheollie,” sighed Joshua. “We can kill ourselves digging as much as we want but that’d be a waste of time.”

 

“Be ready for anything and everything,” hummed Mingyu, echoing one of the few words he’d ever heard Nephele say.

 

Jihoon suddenly sat up from where he was leaning against the couch, his spine straight as an arrow. He looked at Seokmin with his brow furrowed in concern.

“Seokmin are you okay?” he asked.

Seokmin blanked for a second, taken aback by the out-of-nowhere question. “Y-yeah? Why?”

“You’re shaking.”

 

Before Seokmin could so much as look down to see his violently trembling hands, his head snapped up and towards the door of their dorm. The sounds were far away and faint, but echoed through the safehouse in such a way that they couldn’t be ignored.

 

There were gunshots. Gunshots and screaming.

 

////

 

Chan could feel his heartbeat. He felt every single pound in his chest. He couldn’t hear it, his ears occupied by the deafening gunshots, stifled screams, not to mention the fact his hearing was on high alert. But he felt it, the great pounding, the great pressure that came with every beat.

He didn’t remember anything past him getting out of the van. It all dissolved in his mind in a cacophony of bullets, smoke, and debris. In any case, his mind was preoccupied with other things. Finishing this job. Pleasing his father. Hoping everything would be over quickly. All while trying to stay the _hell_ alive.

His legs were aching, his lungs burning coldly from the dry air and a desperate _need_ for breath, but Chan didn’t stop. He _wouldn’t_ stop until he had surveyed every corner of the very last room, reported back to his father, and waited to get home and forget anything had ever happened.

 

Suddenly, when the sound of chaos above him was so distant he could almost pretend it wasn’t there, Chan skid to a sudden halt. He heard something.

 

The world dimmed and spun around him as he sucked air into his lungs. What he heard was a sharp thud, followed by a hiss. A part of him wanted to ignore it, and that part almost convinced him it was an illusion concocted by his scared, exhausted mind.

But there was the other part of him. The part that instantly thought of the consequences he would face if it really _was_ something, and he stupidly overlooked it. He didn’t even want to imagine the punishment he’d face for such a mistake.

 

_’Do_ not _fuck this up,’_ his father had said. And those words echoed through his mind, growing louder and louder until he just couldn’t ignore them anymore.

 

Opening the door to the room slowly and carefully, Chan held onto the grip of his gun so tightly he felt his skin stretch over his knuckles, not that it would help in the end. At first, he saw absolutely nothing, but then he heard the rustle of fabric on the ground. There was someone there, clutching their leg. And judging by the hiss they let out, they were in pain.

 

_“DON’T YOU DARE FUCKING TOUCH HIM!”_

 

That’s when Chan was shocked. It was more than just a tingle that spread underneath his skin. It felt as though someone had attached a live wire to each and every last one of his nerves, and his body convulsed as the violent electrical current pulsed through him.

Chan collapsed to the ground hard, a scream caught in his throat as his body shuddered uncontrollably. His senses were nullified; he couldn’t see, hear, or feel anything other than the shocks setting his body on fire.

 

 

All Minghao felt was rage, a rage so powerful and suffocating that it made him feel as though he weren’t human. It burned worse than any fire and crept up his spine until he couldn’t handle it anymore. So, when he saw an injured Mingyu being cornered, everything exploded, and he didn’t hesitate to act. He was intoxicated with an emotion he hated feeling.

As soon as he sent the stream of electricity straight to the figure hovering over Mingyu, the anger fizzled out, like steam escaping once an oven had been opened. Worry replaced it, a worry that sat in his stomach so thickly it almost kept him from movement. Almost, because within seconds, he was by Mingyu’s side, gingerly looking over the (thankfully) thin slice across the side of his thigh.

 

The steaming anger might have escaped Minghao, but it had to go somewhere. And that somewhere was straight into Seungcheol’s heart. He saw red and had already started marching towards the figure on the ground before Soonyoung appeared in front of him, having scaled the ceiling to obstruct his path.

“Soonyoung move,” warned Seungcheol. He would feel guilty for speaking so harshly later, but at that moment, he hadn’t even heard the gruffness of his voice over the pounding in his ears.

“Seungcheol, look at him,” replied Soonyoung, with an authority almost strong enough to match Seungcheol’s. It was enough to momentarily subdue the elder.

 

 

The convulsions in Chan’s body had stopped, leaving his muscles limp and weak. Slowly, his senses returned to him. He could hear the people talking around him, but when he looked up he only saw shadowy figures. He tried to come to his hands and knees, but something was wrong.

Chan was scared, more scared than he had ever been before. It was as though the tightly locked chest of fears had been burst open, and he could barely process everything that came flooding out of it. Everything had gone wrong. How would his father react? Would he get out alive? Did he even want to get out?

 

The fire that had been burning in Chan’s blood reignited, and it felt once again like his body was being set aflame. Without the convulsions, it burned more fiercely, and despite himself, Chan let out a cry from between his tightly grit teeth.

 

 

“Seungcheol he’s a child,” said Soonyoung, gripping the elder’s shoulders tightly.

 

Seungcheol froze, his gaze stuck on the tensed boy barely a meter away from him, mind struggling to compute what Soonyoung had just told him. But when he heard the boy’s muted scream, he was convinced.

“Why the hell would they send a child to do this?” asked Seungcheol, the remnants of rage still in his voice.

 

“Jesus Hao… What did you do to him?” asked Junhui softly. Seungkwan looked up from tending to Mingyu’s bleeding thigh over to the boy, eyes widening when he saw how his frame was stiff in agony.

Minghao looked just as shocked and confused, but in the mix was a little guilt, especially after seeing how young and hurt the boy looked.

“I don’t know,” he replied, voice softened by soft. “That’s not supposed to happen.”

 

 

Chan couldn’t understand what they were saying, mind too focused on the pain to process any of the words, but he felt when someone knelt beside him. His mind went into overload.

 

“Please,” he cried weakly between gasps. “Please don’t… Don’t hurt me… I don’t… Please…”

He did know if his words were making any sense, but he couldn’t stop. Overwhelmed by pain, fear, and panic, he couldn’t control the waterfall of words that just kept tumbling from his lips.

 

“Shh,” soothed the man kneeling by his side, placing a comforting hand on his painfully curved back. The touch alleviated some of the pressure there, as though it were being sucked right out of the muscle. “No one’s gonna hurt you.”

 

 

Seungkwan looked up, eyes brimming with focus and concern. “Wonwoo, come help me please.”

 

 

Chan felt a different pair of hands move him, maneuvering him so that his back was resting against someone’s chest. Every little movement felt like his body was being twisted, like his muscles were being stretched far past their limits.

 

 

“Breathe kid,” said Wonwoo, putting a hand on the side of the boy’s head, whose body had almost completely slumped in his arms, almost breathless. “Just breathe.”

 

 

“Where does it hurt?” asked the man who had soothed Chan, the man who was kneeling in front of him now. Had he not been holding his jaw, Chan probably wouldn’t have heard him.

“E-Everywhere,” replied Chan hoarsely.

The man’s brows furrowed, and he changed the question. “Where does it hurt the most?”

With difficulty, Chan brought a trembling hand to his chest. His heart felt as though it had erupted into a ball of flames, sending flares throughout every part of his body.

“Okay,” said the man with an understanding nod. He looked up at the person holding him for a brief moment. “Just try to relax for me.”

 

The world around Chan dissolved into a warm vision, one so vivid he surrendered completely to it. He was lying in a field of carnations, letting the late morning sun comfort him as a pleasant breeze cooled him. He felt as light as the petals surrounding him, light enough to smile. Something he hadn’t done in a long, long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall have no idea how happy i am i was able to get this chapter done.  
> i start university next week so updates may be even slower from here on out, hence why i really tried to get something out before then. i really hope you enjoy this chapter and hopefully it won't be too long until the next one!!!


	5. Molten Lead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there are many small hints in this chapter about something that's going to be revealed in a future chapter. they're all to do with chan and if anyone can guess what the hints add up to be i will be so impressed cuz WOW!!  
> in any case, i'm sorry for the long wait! please enjoy this chapter (although it's kind of a filler i suppose) and let me know what you think! i always love hearing your thoughts!

Chan woke up slowly, as though being carefully reeled up from the uttermost depths of the ocean. He laid there quietly, breath slow and measured, waiting until his consciousness completely came back to him.

The air around him felt… strange. It lacked a certain coldness and staleness that his skin was used to. This air felt oddly fresh, oddly warm, confusing his lungs as though they didn’t know how to react to it. It felt wrong.

But the odd tingling in his lungs was soon forgotten as Chan’s awareness moved from his skin to just below it. Everything ached, every single inch of his body. It felt like the aftermath of a burn – almost, but not quite, numb, and the pain dull but tender and easily aggravated.

 

The events of the previous night rushing back to him, Chan _knew_ that he was far from his own home.

 

Curiosity and anxiety slowly pried open his eyes – which felt like they had been swollen – to meet a cracked, magnolia colored ceiling. Sliding his eyes sideways, he found that the walls were the same color, broken up only by a dark, wooden door. There wasn’t a single window, nor a piece of furniture other than the simple bed he was lying in, covered by a thin white sheet, and the small, dark brown bedside table to his right.

Chan suddenly became overwhelmed with a sense of urgency. Not at all used to lying in bed for longer than mere moments, he felt like if he didn’t sit up that instant, a catastrophe would occur. The sensation made his ribs feel tight, as though they were about to constrict his lungs until they burst. The pain all over his body obscured by a fierce mental storm, Chan made an attempt to lift his torso off the firm mattress, but just as quickly as he had moved, he found himself being pulled back down.

 

Despite the brief and sudden shock, Chan had registered that the tug came from his wrist. Propping himself up on his left elbow, he slid his eyes sideways to find his right wrist cuffed to the frame of the bed. It was by no means tight enough to cause him any sort of discomfort, but definitely not loose enough for him to get out of it.

Not easily at least.

 

 

Chan had already tried squeezing his hand through the cuff, had tried prying it open, and was halfway towards giving up on breaking the part of the frame to which the other cuff was fastened when the dark wooden door slowly creaked open.

 

Chan froze, eyes wide and unblinking, looking _exactly_ like a deer caught in the headlights. The man who walked through, a cup of water in hand, didn’t even look at Chan at first. He took his time closing the door, every action and methodical. Chan followed his every movement, heart pounding so loud it was almost as though it echoed throughout the room.

It was only when the man set the cup on the table that he looked up, eyes deep and shadowy. A small smile played on his lips, giving him a look of intrigue.

 

“We were worried you wouldn’t wake up,” said the man, voice soft and quiet. “I’m glad you did.”

 

Chan stayed quiet, barely even blinking let alone moving. He wanted to wait until the man left before he let out the breath he was holding, but he would not be given that luxury. The man sat on the edge of the bed Chan was trapped in, his eyes moving to his cuffed, now slightly scratched wrists.

“Sorry about that by the way,” he said, nodding towards the silver cuffs. “We figured you might panic when you woke up and this was the only thing we could think to do.”

 

There was a pause, one long and deep enough that discomfort crawled over Chan’s skin. He realized how much more silent it was when you were several floors underground. There was no sound of traffic, no singing of birds, no sound of the wind rustling the leaves on the autumn trees. Underground, there was a different form of silence, one that was heavier, deeper, and far more suffocating.

 

“How do you feel?” asked the man, breaking the silence that was starting to feel like a sheet of thick ice.

Chan still couldn’t speak. He felt as though molten lead was filling his mouth, making his tongue heavy and stiff.

“Seungkwan already told you,” started the man in a reassuring, soft voice, placing a warm hand on Chan’s knee through the bedsheet, “No one’s gonna hurt you.”

 

Chan swallowed thickly, his saliva still feeling as though it were dense as lead. He had meant to ask where he was, who the man was, what had happened while he was passed out; but what had escaped his lips was something entirely different.

 

“Why didn’t you kill me?”

 

To say the question took the man by surprise would be an understatement. For a brief moment, his face washed blank with confusion, as though the cogs in his brain couldn’t turn fast enough to process the simple yet heavy question. Every muscle in his body simply froze before softening, the shadows in his eyes clouding together until they looked like a deep pool of darkness.

“Why would you ask that?” asked the man. His still soft voice had taken on a darker tone, and in Chan’s heightened state, it sent shivers down his spine. He kept the man safely in the corner of his eye, refusing to look directly at him, and clenched his free hand into a fist so tight his knuckles stood out from his already ashen skin.

“I hurt you,” whispered Chan, shoulders shrugging weakly.

The man chuckled shallowly. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

 

Chan didn’t respond, he didn’t have the faintest idea how to. His mind felt slow, yet another thing he was unused to. He had always been expected to be working at top speed, both mentally and physically. No excuses. The icy silence only seemed to worsen the mental fog, so much so that a short, weak, but nonetheless uncomfortable wave of dizziness washed over Chan. He closed his eyes as he waited for it to pass, not even feeling that his body had started swaying faintly as it tried to adjust to the sense of loss of balance.

The man moved his hand to Chan’s shoulder, trying to steady him. Except Chan didn’t only feel the touch on his shoulder, he felt it all across his shoulder blades and upper back. The sensation felt so foreign and strange that Chan flinched, his eyes snapping open just in time to catch a wisp of black dart to the wall.

 

“What was that?” he found himself, unable to stop his tongue from the panic. His heart went wild once again, every muscle in his body tensed and tight.

“This?” started the man with a small smile. With a small flick of the tips of his fingers, a small tendril of shadow projected by the bedside table came rushing to coil itself around his finger. Chan’s eyes widened even further, filled with fear, panic, and perhaps, deep down, even a touch of wonder.

“I’m an umbrakinetic,” explained the man, returning the tendril of shadow back to where it belonged. “I can manipulate shadows.”

 

_‘So that’s why his eyes look like that,’_ thought Chan, the muscles in his face finally starting to loosen up, if only a little.

 

“Where am I?” asked Chan. The suffocating panic and fear were starting to subside, leaving room for the questions he _should_ be asking to pile up in his head. He was determined to answer them before the molten lead threatened to fill his mouth and throat again.

“Under Specialized Videotape Technologies. We wanted to keep you close-by, so this room is near our dorm.”

Chan was about to ask about everything he had missed, but deep down, he didn’t want to know. He wanted to live out his plan of pretending nothing ever happened. And so, he faltered before asking his next question.

“Who’s _we_?”

 

Chan immediately regret asking the question as he saw the man’s eyes darken with clear, unveiled sorrow. He wished he could pluck the words from the air and stuff them back into his throat.

 

“Some of the few who are left. Those soldiers showed no mercy. They killed almost everyone they found and those they didn’t kill they dragged away. We couldn’t stop them. It’s a miracle they didn’t hurt any of us…”

The man trailed off for a second, leaving Chan wishing he could crawl in on himself and disappear. This was everything he ever tried to avoid. After big jobs, he’d lock himself away for a few days, working through the thoughts of what he had done alone. Now, he was looking straight at someone who he had hurt, and the pain was unbearable.

 

_‘This really was a safe house,’_ thought Chan. He hadn’t realized that he had whispered his thoughts until the man turned towards to him, a disconcerting, small smile on his lips.

“Yes, it was. And quite a big one at that. People mostly came from the countryside and small towns. If you think things are bad for mutants in Tenso, you’d be shocked by what happens there. In the country, mutants are killed, oftentimes by using their own ability against them. A water manipulator? They’re drowned. An electrokinetic? Slowly and torturously electrocuted. A pyrokinetic? Burned at the stake, just like they used to do to witches.”

 

Chan’s heart throbbed painfully. At the mention of pyrokinetics and fire manipulators, his mind automatically went to Ember. He hoped and prayed with everything coursing through his veins that she was alright. That she would be alright, that his father wouldn’t hurt her.

 

He had just opened his mouth to ask the man’s name before he was interrupted. “I know you have a lot more questions, and they’ll all be answered soon, but first you need to answer a couple yourself, okay?”

Chan gulped, the fire once again burning slowly in his blood. He was terrified, but he nodded his head regardless. There was no point in resisting, not when he was handcuffed to a bed, and definitely not when his mind still felt vaguely clouded.

 

“Let’s start off simple. What’s your name?”

“Chan,” he replied, biting back a laugh of relief at the thankfully simple question.

The man smiled his small smile. “I’m Jeonghan. How old are you?”

“19.”

Jeonghan furrowed his brow at this but said nothing. He looked away for a moment, mind clearly somewhere else before turning back to Chan. In a split second, his features took on a far more serious, far colder expression. His eyes appeared to look straight through Chan, as though the shadows in them could pierce his flesh at any moment.

 

“You were with those soldiers last night. You were a unit. For now, we just need to know one thing. What the  _fuck_  are the people you were sent by planning?

The lead started trickling into Chan’s mouth once again. He felt as though he were being torn in half. He wanted to tell Jeonghan everything his father was planning, at least everything he knew and had gathered over the years. He wanted to release everything that he had kept tucked safely in his ribs for years, everything that had constricted and suffocated him for so long. But there came that voice in his head. The same voice that had spoken when he stood in front that door the previous night. He _couldn’t_ betray his father like that. If for nothing else, for fear of the consequences that would be sure to come. If they wouldn’t befall him, they’d befall Ember, they’d befall countless innocent souls. All because of him.

Chan couldn’t speak. He tried to, but all that came out were pathetic small whimpers.

 

Jeonghan, noticing Chan’s struggle, placed his hand on the younger’s knee, squeezing ever so slightly. But his gaze didn’t soften. Not in the slightest.

“Chan. I know it’s hard, but please _try_ and answer me. Seungcheol he’s… he’s furious. And right now, you’re the only one he could possibly take it out on should he choose to do so. No one wants that to happen, but we’re so desperate that there’s only so much we can do. Please, Chan. We just… we really need your help.”

 

Jeonghan’s gaze softened as he whispered his final few words, looking at Chan almost pleadingly. But Chan couldn’t see that. A pain flared out from his heart all throughout his body like a spider web. The pain was so intense that he couldn’t help but squeeze his eyes shut as tears pricked at them. He brought his left arm in against his body and tried to do the same with the right, which was still trapped down against the bed frame. But despite the cuffs, Chan continued trying to pull his arm in, his body going into autopilot mode as the metal started to cut into his skin.

He felt himself leaning back as Jeonghan pushed him towards the pillow. The elder was confused. This was almost what happened when Minghao shocked Chan, but this time, there was no physical explanation to be found. And so, Jeonghan was confused; confused and worried.

 

“Hey,” he said softly, keeping a hand on Chan’s right arm to stop him hurting himself. “Relax. Try to breathe.”

 

As Chan tried to match Jeonghan’s slow, deep breathing, he curled his fingers into the bedsheets, fearing that without an anchor he would lose consciousness there and then. The pain had an unpleasant warmth to it, eating at the walls of his blood vessels and searing through his tissue with more efficacy than a branding iron. Everything felt scalded, and whether he moved or stayed perfectly still, he was in more pain than he thought possible. His mind seemed to succumb to the torment, unable to string together a single complete thought.

The pain was almost cruel in nature, as though it had a mind of its own. It increased in waves, with only the smallest of lulls giving Chan a false hope of relief. Each peak left him unable to speak, almost unable to breathe. It was as though his blood itself was gasoline and a match were lit inside of him, destroying him from the inside out. All he could do was writhe, and try to breathe, the occasional whimper escaping to echo off the walls.

 

“Better?” asked Jeonghan when Chan finally opened his eyes. His breathing was normal again, if only a little fast paced. Chan immediately felt small under Jeonghan’s concerned gaze, and only nodded in response.

“Chan,” started Jeonghan with a sigh. “That’s… that’s not normal. Even when Minghao shocked you, what’s happening to you isn’t normal.”

Chan picked up on the unasked question. Jeonghan wanted to know _why_ he was getting those bouts of unbridled agony. His heart sank. A part of him hoped that Jeonghan would be able to give him that answer.

“I don’t know why it happens,” he murmured. Though it was mostly the truth, he was still hiding something. But there was no way in a million years he would tell Jeonghan about the pills his father forced him to take – whether they had anything to do with it or not.

 

Jeonghan sighed once more. In all honesty, he was a little disappointed. He really hoped Chan would talk to him and shorten the process. Evidently, it wouldn’t be so easy. He stood up, looking down at the boy with a small smile.

“I won’t push you any further,” he reassured. “Not for now at least. Rest now, as best you can. We’ll check on you in a few hours.”

 

And with only another small, tight smile, Jeonghan left the room, leaving Chan alone and trapped underneath the suffocating, thick sheet of silence once more.

 

////

 

It would be another few, long hours before Chan would see another face. To pass the time, he tried sleeping, but it was as though his body had its fill and refused any more. Or perhaps it was the pent-up energy, leaving him restless, almost hyperactive. In any case, his eyes wouldn’t stay shut for more than a few seconds. Perhaps he should’ve felt hungry, but he was so used to eating less than the bare minimum that it appeared as though his stomach simply adjusted to the emptiness. He had sipped at the glass of water, reaching for it uncomfortable with his left hand, slowly and methodically, as though focusing on it so intently would help the hours pass. By the time the glass was clean of even the smallest drop, Chan felt as though several infinities had come to pass. It had barely been 45 minutes.  

Being so far underground, trapped in a soundless room, it warped Chan’s sense of time. He couldn’t tell if time was passing nauseatingly quick or agonizingly slow. It almost felt timeless, but in such a way that it made Chan’s head spin and his heart beat just the slightest bit too quickly.

 

He heard someone at the door before it actually opened, and Chan bit back a sigh of relief. He didn’t know if Jeonghan or anyone else knew it, he didn’t know if they intentionally kept him here as a form of revenge, but staying in that room alone with no significant sensory stimulation was about to make him lose his mind.

 

But Chan’s relief was short lived. It wasn’t Jeonghan who walked through the door. This black-haired man had a gaze that could cut steel, and the second he entered the room he trained it on Chan. His chest immediately felt tight and his throat felt as though it were closing up, making breathing an immensely difficult task.

 

“Lee Kyungmin sent you and the soldiers,” started this man, leaning against the door with his arms crossed over his chest, “Didn’t he?”

Chan knew immediately from the tightness, the gruffness, the barely contained rage in his voice that this man _had_ to be Seungcheol. Jeonghan had mentioned he was angry, and Chan gulped in terror.

Seungcheol stared at him expectantly, clearly waiting for an answer. Chan’s mind worked at top speed, not wanting to aggravate him any more than he clearly was.

 

_‘He’s only asking for the name. That’s okay, right?’_ thought Chan to himself. _‘I’m not doing anything wrong by just giving a name, am I?’_

 

Chan nodded in response before he started overthinking and overanalyzing. Seungcheol gave no response to the answer; he simply stared at the spot where the wall and floor met for a few, long, torturous seconds before training his glare back on Chan.

“How did he find this place?” asked Seungcheol.

 

Panic flooded through Chan’s system again, making his heart beat loudly and painfully against his ribs. He could say he didn’t know, which would partially be true. Chan didn’t know the details as to how his father suspected and came to the conclusion that Specialized Videotape Technologies was a safe house for mutants. All he knew was that people had been watching the place.

That information was relatively harmless, he supposed, and yet, when he tried to open his mouth to give it, his lips wouldn’t part. Fear paralyzed him as memories of the countless threats his father told him played through his mind.

He’d vowed, countless times, to never speak a word of anything his father did. Regardless of whether those vows were made due to terror and under threat of violence if he didn’t, he wasn’t about to go back on them.

 

“I don’t know,” said Chan, voice smaller than he’d have liked.

Seungcheol’s eyes narrowed into slits, and Chan had to use all the strength he had not to turn his gaze downwards.

“What do you mean _you don’t know_?” asked Seungcheol, voice almost a snarl.

“I’m sorry I… I just don’t know,” replied Chan, far too quickly.

 

Seungcheol exhaled heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose as his eyes closed. Whether it was from exasperation, desperation, or a mixture of the two, Chan couldn’t tell.

When Seungcheol opened his eyes again, his glare was still there but it was softened, not quite so piercing anymore. Though only a little, his chest loosened, and his throat opened up, much to Chan’s relief.

 

“Kid,” started Seungcheol, the word coming out as a sigh. “I don’t know if you’re truly oblivious to this or if you’re just persistent on denying it, but Kyungmin’s mind is not one that would protect this world, to keep life in it. If he had any true power, which he’s halfway towards getting, he would only destroy it, bit by bit.”

 

Chan looked down, sinking his teeth far into his lips. He knew, both in his heart and in his mind, that Seungcheol’s words were true. He knew for a _fact_ that the second his father got what he wanted, he would wreak havoc on the world, killing, torturing, and inflicting unimaginable pain on millions.

 

“So please,” continued Seungcheol, “If you have any information, tell us. Keeping it to yourself isn’t going to do anyone any good.”

 

Seungcheol was right. So right that Chan almost laughed at himself. He had always harbored nothing but resentment towards everything his father did: all his plans, his beliefs, his initiatives. He would spend every millisecond he had to himself dreaming of a way to escape it all. To be free from that spiderweb even if it meant living through hardships and pain all alone.

And yet, here he was trying to protect the very man who never showed him an ounce of warmth. The very man who had put him through all seven layers of hell, and then dragged him up from the depths only to shove him back in once again.

Either way, consequences were sure to come. So what the hell was stopping him?

 

Chan wanted nothing more than to tell Seungcheol everything, to let the words tumble from his lips and not even try to stop them. But his chest still felt too tight, too locked up, his throat still too narrow to let any of the words through.

 

“Tomorrow,” he managed to croak out, just as Seungcheol was turning to leave.

 

The elder stared at him, facial features completely frozen. It felt like an eternity of tension before Seungcheol nodded and walked towards Chan while fishing something out of his pocket. Subconsciously, Chan found himself drawing his knees further towards his chest.

Seungcheol bent down when he was beside Chan, grabbing his right wrist in a grip that was surprisingly gentle. With a sharp _click_ , the unforgettable pressure that had only been growing heavier and heavier disappeared. Chan immediately pulled his right arm in towards his chest, massaging the aching joint.

 

When Chan looked up at Seungcheol, he found that any and every trace of the anger and coldness in Seungcheol’s eyes had disappeared. Instead, Chan now saw a small twinkle, a small flicker of hope in them.

 

“Tomorrow,” echoed Seungcheol, giving Chan a small smile that was more in his eyes than on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really hate writing filler chapters


	6. Early Morning Screaming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry for the delay! Please enjoy this new chapter!

“You fucking saw him, Hansol! What do you want us to do, hmm? Kill him? Send him back?

“That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it Soonyoung. I just think he’s dangerous.”

“How the _fuck_ is he dangerous?! He’s a fucking kid!”

“He’s a fucking kid who’s been trained to be a soldier. He’s a fucking kid who’s been sent to fucking kill us all.”

 

The argument woke everyone in the dorm room up early the next morning. Soonyoung’s thunderous voice took on a harshness that never failed to surprise the group. He would feel guilty for the malice in his words and his voice later, but in the moment, his temper was blinding him, his vision saturated with red so thick and dark it was almost black.

Hansol, on the other hand, his voice remained quiet, but it was far from calm. He sounded as though he were talking through grit teeth, like every single muscle in his body was being stretched to their limits. His eyes were dark, vulture-like, colder than usual.

 

No one could bear the arguing. Not so early in the morning, and _definitely_ not when so much was riding on their focus. So, after Seungcheol got the two to stop their argument, and although no one wanted to, they all decided to talk about it as a group.

 

Surprisingly enough, it didn’t help much.

 

“Soonyoung,” started Wonwoo, “Think about it. Hansol has a point.”

“Wha-” spluttered Soonyoung, betrayal evident in his voice and expression.

“Listen,” continued Wonwoo. “Yes, he’s a child. But he’s been fed so much shit all his life. Assuming innocence is dangerous.”

“But you all saw him that night…” mumbled Soonyoung. He lost the bite to his bark, and instead, simply sounded desperate.

“I know Soonyoung, but you’re being impatient.” began Wonwoo.

“I think I’m allowed a little impatience,” spat Soonyoung in exasperation. “I’ve earned it, I’d say. And at least I’m not the one treating a 19-year-old kid like a murderer.”

“He had a gun Soonyoung,” sighed Seungcheol. He looked and sounded utterly exhausted. “That’s not something normal 19-year-old kids typically have.”

 

“A _blank_ gun, if I might add.”

 

Everyone in the room jumped, the voice seeming to come seemingly out of nowhere. Rather, everyone except for Jihoon, who simply sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Jeonghan how many times have I told you to stop standing in the dark?”

 

The shadows of the room shifted to reveal a tired yet abashed Jeonghan scratching the back of his head. In moments of deep, deep thought, he often wouldn’t notice he was shrouding himself in darkness.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly.

 

“Wait, what do you mean a blank gun?” asked Seungcheol, shifting from tired and lethargic to completely alert in the blink of an eye.

“We checked his gun when he was still out cold,” explained Junhui, voice uncharacteristically small. “It didn’t have any bullets in it.”

 

As Junhui spoke, Wonwoo kept a cautious hold on his wrist. Junhui’s ability was not only powerful, but it was also dangerous. Both to him and everyone around him.

Wonwoo was always all too aware of how emotionally level Junhui had to stay for as long as physically possible. After all, the psionic blasts his boyfriend produced were concentrated, almost pure, and highly destructive psychic energy. One stimulus too many, and he could completely lose control, sending a powerful explosion throughout the safehouse before even he knew what was going on.

And while Junhui had mastered controlling the turbulence inside him, Wonwoo still worried.

 

“How was it empty?” asked Hansol, brows furrowed. “He’s a soldier, isn’t he? Why would they send him in without a loaded gun?”

“I was surprised they only gave him _one_ gun,” muttered Joshua. “And a _pistol_ too, of all things.”

Seungcheol sighed, running his hand across his face. “What the fuck have we gotten ourselves into this time,” he muttered.

“Shit…” hissed Hansol. “Soonyoung you may be right.”

“Thank fucking god,” breathed Soonyoung, exhaustion catching up to him.

 

The tension in the room fizzled out and was replaced by something different, but by no means any better. It was fear, fear of the unknown, of not knowing nearly enough about what was in store for them. And that _terrified_ them.

 

 

The arguing came right through the walls, loud enough to shock Chan awake. Within only a few seconds, he got all the details he didn’t want to hear. He knew they were true, every single word, but hearing them still hurt.

He was the cause of the early morning shouting. The threat he posed, the pain he inflicted, the lives he stole.

His first instinct was to leave the room. To go, apologise for everything he’d done, and stop the shouting, the tension, and the hardships. His mind was set on that, crystal clear for the first time in years until his hand touched the cold metal of the doorknob. Then, he froze, fear taking over his senses as though it were a knife twisting in his gut. His eyes widened, breaths becoming ragged and harsh as his hands started trembling. The world around him melted away as he was dragged into the recesses of his own mind, reliving a memory he hadn’t even realised he was still holding on to.

 

 

 

When his parents had their last argument, he was 9 years old. He couldn’t remember what it was about, only what he woke up to, just past midnight. All his ears could register was the sound of screaming. The frantic, borderline hysterical screams of his mother and the harsh, cruel, unforgiving shouts of his father blended together to create a chaos more severe, and far deadlier than even the worst thunderstorm.

 

Clutching his blanket tightly around his small, frail shoulders, Chan cautiously tip-toed to his parents’ room. He was scared, terribly so, but laying in bed oblivious and unaware was far scarier to him.

 

When he opened the door just a crack, it was as though the breath was stolen from his lungs. His mom, the only woman he knew who could take everything his father threw at her and still maintain a calm demeanour, was tugging at her hair, tears flowing from her eyes like a flood. There was redness blossoming beneath her left eye, and even young Chan knew that would leave a horrible bruise.

His father, on the other hand, he radiated fury. His eyes held nothing but anger as his fists hung clenched tightly at his sides. There was a fire burning in between the browns of his irises, wild, blazing, and destructive.

 

Even though the door was barely open enough for Chan to see through the crack, his father managed to spot him. He yanked the door open, almost making Chan fall flat on his face.

“What are you doing here _brat_?” snarled his father, glaring daggers at Chan, who wished he could just disappear into the floors right then and there.

“Leave him alone Kyungmin,” said his mother, trying to muster strength into her words. She failed.

“You shut up!” screamed his father, whipping his head towards his mother, who appeared to physically shrink at the harshness. He turned back to Chan, the fire in his eyes blazing even brighter, and his teeth bared almost like a wolf. “Leave. Now.”

 

A strong shove to the shoulder sent Chan stumbling to the ground, his blanket having tangled around his legs. The door slammed shut so loudly Chan could’ve sworn the house shook.

Sure his father would be even more upset to find him still outside the door, Chan had no choice but to go back to bed, body shaking and heart racing. The sleep he had the rest of that night was plagued with never-ending nightmares.

 

He never saw his mom again.

 

 

 

Chan took his hand off the doorknob as though it were red hot. He blinked the tears from his eyes and wrapped his arms around himself as though the pressure on his ribs would stop his breathing from trembling.

 

He crawled back in bed, previous determination long forgotten. Curling around himself, Chan didn’t even try to drown any of the words out. He wouldn’t be able to.

 

 

He was still frozen in that position when Seungcheol poked his head in through the door. The elder’s brows immediately knitted together as he closed the door softly behind him.

“I can tell when someone’s mad at me,” said Chan, his voice quiet. When he lifted his head from between his knees, Seungcheol could see the dark, puffy circles under his red, glassy eyes. “Please, do I get to know why, so I can try to fix it?”

 

It was then that Seungcheol realised what Soonyoung was saying was true. Chan really was just a child. A scared child forced to play a role far, far too big for him.

And what hurt is that in that moment, Seungcheol could see clearly that _this_ was who Chan was. He could wear that tough, silent, almost emotionless mask for as long as he wanted, but underneath it, he was suffering. He was suffering more than any of them could even begin to sense.

 

“You heard all that?” asked Seungcheol, leaning back against the door.

“Most of it…”

“I’m sorry Chan,” said Seungcheol. “Things are just… never mind. We don’t need to fight, do we? I’ve had enough of that this morning, and I’d really rather just sleep.”

 

Chan chuckled softly, moving his knees away from his chest.

“You’re really not mad at me?”

“No, Chan. I’m not,” sighed Seungcheol, moving to sit by the younger. “Can we talk about everything now and get it over with?”

Chan nodded. “Okay.”

 

“Let’s take it step by step, shall we?” suggested Seungcheol. “We’re both exhausted after all.”

Chan nodded again, but more hesitantly. Despite everything, despite the promise of something better, he was still terrified of the consequences of his actions.

 

“Okay. Lee Kyungmin: he’s the Minister of Mutant Control, correct?” Seungcheol’s voice grew bitter as he said the title, as though the very words tasted disgusting to him.

“Yes,” answered Chan, nervously playing with his fingers.

Seungcheol nodded. He already knew the answer to that question but wanted to start things off simply before they started delving into things that would be a little more difficult for the younger to explain.

“And he’s the one who sent you and the others, right?”

“Right.”

“Who is he? To you, I mean. How did you get mixed up with him?”

 

Chan gulped. This was the question he was most terrified of. Anywhere else in Tenso, admitting that Lee Kyungmin was his father would bring admiration and respect. But he was sitting with one of the people his father aimed to hurt.

What if Seungcheol thought he was just like his father? What if he saw him as a murderer? What if his hopes of finding somewhere better, warmer, would be crushed forever?

 

“Chan?”

 

Seungcheol’s voice brought Chan out of his head, and back into the real world. He gulped and answered in a voice so soft Seungcheol almost couldn’t hear the words.

 

 

“He’s my father.”

 

 

At first, Seungcheol was convinced his ears were playing tricks on him.

“ _What?_ ”

 

His mental turbulence made the question come out harsher than he intended, making Chan tense up a little.

 

“Lee Kyungmin. He’s my dad. That’s how I got involved in this.”

Seungcheol blinked at Chan before looking away. He had a million different things running through his head but pushed them away for now. He still had a lot he needed to get out of the way.

“Okay,” said Seungcheol dryly. He opened his mouth to continue but found that no words could come out.

“I know,” started Chan, a bitter smile on his face. “It’s messed up, isn’t it?”

“It is,” replied Seungcheol with a chuckle. “There’s really no other way to put it.”

 

After a short pause, Chan spoke up. There was a slight tremble to his quiet voice.

“I get it, you know. If you think I’m dangerous. I wouldn’t blame you.”

“No, Chan. It’s not like you could help that.”

Chan gave a small nod, though he still seemed unconvinced.

 

“Let’s continue, okay?” offered Seungcheol, Chan nodding in relief. “Do you know how Kyungmin managed to find us?”

Chan exhaled heavily. “I’m not sure. He didn’t tell me the details. I just know he’d been keeping an eye on this building.”

“Yeah but, what made him start suspecting this was a safe house in the first place?”

“I really don’t know. I’m sorry…”

Seungcheol shook his head gently. “It’s okay. I didn’t expect you to have all the answers. But you’re helping anyway.”

 

Chan only seemed to shift uncomfortably on the bed. He could feel that warmth, that fire start spreading out from his heart. And while it was faint for now, he knew it was a matter of time before it became unbearable.

“Are we done?” he asked, hating how small his voice sounded more than ever.

“Just one more question, okay? Then we’ll be done. Is that okay?”

Chan heaved a sigh of relief. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

“What does Kyungmin want from us?”

 

Chan bit his lip so hard he almost drew blood.

 

“That’s uhh… That’s not an easy question to answer.”

“It’s okay,” replied Seungcheol, gently squeezing Chan’s knee. “Take your time.”

 

Chan took a deep breath, trying to organise his thoughts. He knew _exactly_ what his father had always wanted, but it was something that terrified him so much that he purposefully avoided thinking of it. But now, he had to swallow his fear and express the information he had as clearly as he could, no matter how much his voice shook.

“My dad… he’s always wanted power. He’s ambitious and wants to get as much power as he can as fast as possible. I guess… he felt threatened? By you, I mean. Because you have something he doesn’t. So, he started capturing mutants and experimenting on them. He wants to know how you get your abilities and then harness it. I don’t know how he would, though. He thinks doing that will make Zuntai the most powerful country in the world, and I assume he wants to be the person who makes that happen.”

Seungcheol hummed thoughtfully. “So basically, he wants to conduct a large-scale research study on mutant abilities, only to then use his findings for his own gain.”

“Pretty much,” shrugged Chan.

“And he kills the mutants when he’s done to appease the government?”

Chan nodded. “That and he himself buys into that frame of mind that mutants are the source of all Zuntai’s problems. He’s believed that for as long as I can remember.”

 

Seungcheol suddenly closed his eyes tight, shaking his head violently.

“God, I can even imagine what would have happened if he had gotten their hands on one of us… or Nephele...”

“Nephele?” asked Chan, cocking his head to the side.

“You’ll probably meet them soon,” replied Seungcheol, waving off Chan’s confusion. His face softened a little. “Hey, guess what?”

“What?”

“We’re done kiddo. You told me everything I needed to know.  And it wasn’t so bad, right?”

 

Chan blinked a couple of times. The ordeal was by no means easy, but he had honestly expected it to drag on far, far longer. He felt the flames in his veins begin to calm, to stop burning the underside of his skin.

Seungcheol chuckled, his eyes crinkling in endearment. “You seem surprised.”

Chan rubbed the back of his head, abashed. “I mean… My job was to eliminate you, kind of. Not to help you. I expected the change to be harder.”

“We never wanted to make it harder on you Chan. We just wanted to keep each other safe. And I’m sorry if we hurt you in the process.”

 

Chan looked down shook his head, a small smile on his lips. After so long without it, he was surprised by the comforting warmth he felt settling on his skin. It felt nice, smiling so naturally without the muscles in his cheeks aching. He felt as though he were being enveloped in an old duffle coat – familiar, friendly, and soft.

 

“Hey,” started Seungcheol softly. “Can I ask you one more thing? I promise, it’s not going to be nearly as difficult as anything we’ve been over so far.”

Chan felt fear mixed with the sticky, heavy lead creep up his throat once again, but he gulped it down. He was too tired to let this drag on much longer.

“Okay,” he replied.

“How come your gun was empty?”

 

In all honesty, Chan completely forgot that he had emptied his gun _right_ before his father gave him and the soldiers their briefing. Among everything else that had happened, it didn’t seem as important.

“Oh… I uh-” started Chan. “I emptied it before my father sent us out.”

Seungcheol’s eyes widened. “ _Why_ would you do that?”

Chan shrugged. “I was tired of hurting people.”

“And Kyungmin never noticed?”

“No,” replied Chan, shaking his head. “I got lucky.”

“Jesus Chan,” breathed Seungcheol. “That’s courage right there.”

“Courage? Sure, if that’s what you want to think. But it was really just me trying to find a way to be in control and still do what has to be done if I don’t want to die.”

 

Seungcheol gave a dry chuckle, and stood back up, stretching his arms up above his head.

“That’s it for today, I think,” announced Seungcheol with an exhale. “This room is uncomfortable enough as it is. We’ll figure out what’s next later on.”

“What’s next?” asked Chan, a little nervous.

“I mean how we’re gonna deal with these new developments. Not just with the safehouse, but everything going on in Zuntai that makes our lives hell. Because quite frankly I’m sick of running. And whether Nephele is ready for this or not, we’re going to fight for once.”

“Seungcheol…” started Chan, voice careful. “You have no idea what you’re getting into. You haven’t seen how terrifying those people can be.”

Seungcheol frowned. “In the end, they’re just people Chan.”

Chan chuckled bitterly, wrapping his arms around his stomach. “After living with them for so long, I’m starting to doubt that.”

“Channie,” started Seungcheol. “Think about it. They are a small group of people fuelled by greed and animosity. We, though also a small group, actually have things we care about. We have _people_ we care about. We’re in this together, and I _swear_ , no one’s going to hurt you any more as long as we’re around, okay?”

 

Chan nodded and wrapped Seungcheol’s words around him like a child wrapping their favourite blanket around their shoulders. He clutched onto them tightly. It had been a while since he had something to hold onto.

 

“Hey, come with me,” said Seungcheol. “This room is cold, uncomfortable, and you’ve been here far too long.”

“Where are we going?” asked Chan, already moving to get off the bed.

“Our dorm,” replied Seungcheol, continuing quickly after seeing a hint of fear cross Chan’s face. “Don’t worry, you’ll be okay. It’s not the biggest, but it’s home.”

 

_‘Home.’_ Chan liked the sound of that.

 

////

 

“Sir, we’re sorry. Your son was left behind.”

 

 

Kyungmin dismissed the messenger with a flick of his hand. For a few moments, he sat completely still, as though he were truly made of stone.

 

 

Then, a smile crossed his face. A horrible, cold, cruel smile.

 

 

“This could be useful,” he drawled, punching a series of numbers into the phone on his desk.

 

 

 

“Listen up,” he said as soon as the other party answered. “I need the following published by tomorrow morning…”


	7. Warmth, Sparks, and Rose-Pink Cheeks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for the delay have some softness as compensation

It was an interesting experience, though one Chan would rather not repeat for as long as he lived. The nightmare left him feeling as though he might die from the pain deep in his brain. He was desperately trying to wake up, completely aware that the fire eating him from the inside out was nothing but a dream, but to no avail.

 

 

He was in an empty room, and before him, cowering in the corner, was himself. Somehow, his dream self’s left arm had become a knife, from his bicep all the way to his fingers. There was a panic in his eyes as he stared back at Chan – the real Chan – wielding the knife in blind fear, unable to tell his own reflection from a foe. But try as he might, Chan couldn’t escape. The fire beneath his skin left him paralysed. The walls seemed to be getting closer and closer, bringing Chan nearer to his panicked, frightened, armed image. There were barely three metres between them… then two… then one… then-

 

 

Chan’s body finally regained mobility, and he shot upwards from his place on the floor, his brain feeling shot through and his skin still thrumming with phantom heat. His blanket was tangled uncomfortably around his legs, and without him realising, his right arm shot out to the side, hitting a wall and making him hiss in pain. Biting his lips shut, he looked around frantically, hoping he hadn’t woken anyone, and sighing in relief when he found he hadn’t. Lying back down, Chan ran a heavy hand over his face. It had been a long, long day.

 

Meeting the rest of the group had gone better than expected, simply awkward at worst. Chan could feel how some of them looked at him with distrustful, cautious eyes, but it didn’t bother him. He couldn’t blame them. He mostly hung around Jeonghan and Seungcheol – the only familiar faces – observing quietly. It was when nightfall came that things started to get particularly interesting (or in Chan’s case: exhausting).

 

 

 

_“I don’t get it,” muttered Seungkwan as Joshua walked into the main room. He was leaning against the arch-frame and watching Chan, his brow furrowed in concentration. “He won’t stop staring at the door. There’s nothing there, is there?”_

_Joshua frowned too. Seungkwan was right, Chan was sitting in the ground and staring with a look of utter fear at the closed front door. He was gnawing at his lip so hard he was drawing small beads of blood. Minghao and Mingyu, who were also in the room, had clearly noticed too, exchanging cautious glances with Joshua._

 

_Chan suddenly jumped when he found a gentle face coming into view, shocking him out of the turbulence in his own mind._

_“Are you alright?” asked Joshua, maintaining a soft smile._

_Chan swallowed thickly and nodded, looking away from the eyes that were scanning his face. “_

_Yeah, I’m fine.”_

_“Are you sure? Because you look terrified.”_

 

_Chan’s eyes widened as panic started to spread through his system. He shook his head almost frantically._

_“I’m fine, really, I-”_

_“_ Chan, _” interrupted Joshua, his voice holding just the smallest hint of authority before softening once again. “Please just tell us what’s bothering you.”_

 

_Chan stared at Joshua for a few seconds before sighing and looking down at his lap defeated. He was playing with his fingers as he tried to string the words together._

_“I don’t… It’s just… I keep feeling like… he’s in here. And that he’s gonna find me. I know he’s not but I just…” Chan trailed off, unable to articulate what he wanted to express._

_“No, no,” Joshua started, making himself comfortable beside Chan. “I understand. Don’t worry.”_

_“Thanks,” mumbled Chan softly._

_“I promise no one’s in here. Between Seokmin’s ability and whatever’s left of our security, we would’ve known if they made it down this far.”_

 

_Chan nodded, but he still looked unconvinced. Joshua sighed, gently tapping the younger’s knee._

_“Do you want me to stay with you for now?”_

_Turning his head to face him, Chan examined Joshua’s face before giving a small, shy, smile, gaze back towards the ground._

_"Yes, please. I don’t really want to deal with this alone right now.”_

_“Alright then,” smiled Joshua, voice and face warm._

 

Though it seemed odd to him, Chan smiled at the memory. He liked it, the way Joshua didn’t even really need to say anything, Chan could just tell from the way the older looked at him that he was genuine, that he cared. A comfortable, fuzzy warmth thrummed underneath his chest – so unlike the scorching heat that would attack him at random moments – and Chan almost felt like he was drifting back asleep.

 

“Mind if I join you in laying on the floor? No? Sweet, move over just a little please.”

 

The keyword had been _almost_ because just before he slipped into the realm of unconsciousness, Soonyoung’s whispering over him made his eyes open back up. The older man was leaning over him, hands rubbing his bare arms, smiling gently despite his clearly exhausted eyes. Still not fully registering the situation, Chan found himself already shuffling closer to the wall to accommodate Soonyoung.

 

“Lift your head a little,” whispered Soonyoung, and when the younger obeyed, he slipped his right arm underneath his neck. “There, that might be a little more comfortable. Are you? Comfortable, I mean.”

Chan nodded. It was strange, such proximity with another person, but Chan didn’t mind it.

 

“Why are you awake?” asked Chan, careful to keep his voice as low as possible.

“It’s that time of night where nothing makes sense, and everything is mildly terrifying,” sighed Soonyoung, looking over at Chan with a tired smile.

“What time is it anyway?”

“Oh no, you silly thing,” replied Soonyoung, gently and affectionately poking the end of Chan’s nose. “Time doesn’t exist here.”

 

Mouth opening and closing like a small guppy, Chan found himself at a complete loss. _‘How does one even begin to respond to a statement like that?’_ he thought before the sound of Soonyoung’s quiet chuckle brought his attention back to the older man laying next to him.

“I’m just kidding, don’t be so serious! To be honest, I’m not sure what the time is. It’s hard to tell sometimes down here.”

 

Chan laughed softly, head leaning against Soonyoung’s arm as he relaxed. He kept his head there as he sighed at the sight just beyond the older man’s head. Though both fast asleep, Jeonghan held a deeply dreaming Jihoon close to his chest, the latter’s arms wrapped tightly around the former’s waist.

 

“They really love each other, don’t they?” whispered Chan, nodding towards the couple. He hadn’t meant for the words to actually come out, but his panic was quickly quelled as a bright, fond grin brightened Soonyoung’s face.

“They do,” he replied, pulling up the thin blanket to cover Chan’s shoulder. “Despite everything, they really, really do.”

Chan frowned and opened his mouth to inquire further, but Soonyoung jumped to explain before a single syllable found its way out of the younger’s throat.

“Jihoon’s ability is acid generation. It comes through his palms and burns holes in almost every material known to mankind. Problem is, he can’t turn it off.”

“Is that why he always wears those gloves?”

“Bingo. If he didn’t, he’d burn everything and every _one_ he touched, and the thought of that _terrifies_ him. He never really opened up about a lot of this at first, but Jeonghan’s good at talking to people. Plus, as you said, they really love each other.”

“It must be hard…”

“How so?” Soonyoung almost purred, curiosity filling his eyes with a peculiar twinkle.

“Not really being able to touch the person you love. It must be hard for both of them.”

“Hmm…” hummed Soonyoung, softly biting the inside of his cheek. “I guess that’s a big thing for you in love then. Physical affections and all that.”

 

Chan’s cheeks suddenly turned as pink as a spring rose – a colour Soonyoung found absolutely adorable on the younger. He looked down and focused on the floor, his lips in a slight pout. Soonyoung waited, allowing the younger time to organise his thoughts, and fighting back the fond chuckle that wanted to break out.

 

“I-I don’t really know,” mumbled Chan. “I mean… Someone like me isn’t exactly capable of loving…”

Soonyoung frowned deeply. Bringing two fingers underneath his chin, he lifted Chan’s gaze so their eyes met. He gave the younger a small smile – after all, he didn’t want Chan to think that he was in trouble.

 

“Hey, when did you get so angsty? Ugh, this won’t do,” he said almost melodramatically, making Chan chuckle. Soonyoung’s heart practically did flips as he discovered yet another one of Chan’s endearing habits – as he laughed, he leaned his head closer into Soonyoung’s arm, his fingers brushing his bicep lightly. And though it ended all too quickly, it still brought warmth to Soonyoung’s heart and spreading all across his chest.

“I mean it though, okay? Don’t say that.”

“Sorry,” mumbled Chan.

“Don’t be.”

 

 

For a few moments, the two lay in complete silence, save for the occasional stir from one of the several sleeping bodies. For the first time in his life, Chan learned what a comfortable silence was. In this silence, he almost felt at home, like no matter what was going on, he was safe. It pained him to have to break it, but a question was running through his head with such force that he didn’t think he could keep it contained much longer.

 

“Soonyoung…” he started tentatively.

“Yeah?” replied Soonyoung in a soft, attentive whisper.

“Can I ask you something?”

Soonyoung gave a slight chuckle, gently ruffling Chan’s hair.

“Of course you can Chan. You can ask anything you want.”

 

Chan broke the eye contact, licking his lips as he sucked in a breath before continuing.

“Do you _really_ believe I’m not a spy or… something like that… I mean… I could’ve just said everything to throw you off… Have you ever considered that?”

 

Chan had no idea what he was expecting by means of a response. Perhaps silence, perhaps a lecture – those were the only options he _struggled_ to come up with. But as Chan was beginning to learn, Soonyoung had a way of surprising him.

“Stop looking so sad,” said Soonyoung, poking Chan’s nose and brushing a small strand of hair away from his eyes. His left hand moved around Chan’s middle, sending warmth spreading through the younger’s body. Chan leaned in closer, drawn like a bumblebee to a flower, basking in the warmth. He never thought he could let another person close to him like this, but somehow, this was different. He’d never known someone so warm, someone who just emanated comfort and care.

 

“Is this better?” asked Soonyoung. Chan could only nod in response, any words thick and stuck in his throat. He felt fingers gently stroke his cheek, and it was all he could do not to let his eyes flutter shut at the sensation.

“Good, now listen to me. I’m not going to lie to you Chan, we’re not completely sure of everything. We _can’t_ be. But you asked if we _believe_ you, and we do. We don’t need to be 100% sure to believe you. I’ve known it from the second I saw you – you’re young, you’re scared, and you’re lost. We believe you Chan, you can trust in that.”

“So, you think it’s okay that I’m here? Just… right with you guys?”

“Well… No.” Chan’s heart stopped. “I don’t agree with that decision. I think you’re way too cute and innocent to be here, at the epicentre of everything, where you could get hurt. But if it means you’re protected, and that you can help us too which means everyone’s bound to be safer, I suppose it’s our best option.”

 

Chan looked down, very flustered and almost overwhelmed.

 

“I… I don’t think I’d be considered innocent… And I’ve really just done more harm than good to you guys so far… God, I’m… I’m really sorry about that I-”

“Chan, stop it,” interrupted Soonyoung, his hand gently but firmly gripping Chan’s chin. “Stop apologising for Kyungmin. He doesn’t fucking deserve it. We’ve told you before and I’ll repeat it until you believe me but you’re _not_ at fault, you hear me? And you _shouldn’t_ apologise for things that aren’t your fault anymore. Let him take some responsibility for his own actions for once.”

 

Soonyoung’s eyes were blazing with intensity. He was the living definition of a duality. His fingers were soft and gentle, his body emanating the most comfortable warmth; but his voice conveyed urgency, his eyes hard and intense.

 

“Point is, Channie,” whispered Soonyoung, his voice softening as he brought his fingers up to ruffle Chan’s hair. “There’s more to you than you’re letting yourself see. And it’s about time someone showed you.”

 

Chan froze, his blush searing through his cheeks, and for a split second, he thought his face was on fire. He tried hiding his face behind his fingers, the rose-pink hue on his cheeks quickly turning into a red shade, peeking through the gaps and making Soonyoung chuckle. It was humiliating, but somehow, Chan didn’t find it too bad.

“Stop,” whined Chan, face still buried behind his hands. “I’m allergic to compliments. Really. Deathly allergic.”

 

Soonyoung couldn’t help himself. He barked out a laugh, leaning in to bury his face in the younger’s hair so as to not disturb the others further. He could feel Chan laughing in his hold, the vibrations spreading through his chest and hands. For a second, Soonyoung could forget the mess they were in, and he felt _light_ , like everything he’d grown so used to carrying for years had just disappeared. And it felt _amazing_.

 

“You’re adorable,” he whispered, making Chan’s cheeks heat up again. “I’m serious, ‘kay? You continue putting yourself down and the only option I’ll be left with will be fighting your insecurities one by one.”

“As interesting as that would be… I guess I’ll try.”

“Good,” replied Soonyoung. He slid his hand back down to Chan’s waist and around to his lower back, idly drawing small, subtle patterns. “Go back to sleep, alright? We don’t know what’s coming tomorrow so it’s important you rest up while you can.”

 

Chan lifted his head slightly, suddenly looking concerned.

“Are you sure your arm doesn’t hurt though? I’ve been laying on it for a while…”

“Shh,” replied Soonyoung, eyes already shut. “I’m fine, you’re fine, now sleep.”

 

 

Soonyoung ignored the way his heart did leaps and somersaults when he felt Chan’s hands gently come to rest against his chest, sending sparks flying from the top of his scalp to the soles of his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if you've noticed but I love soonchan and I love fluff


	8. Chan, You're-

Chan woke as though it were an emergency, as though he had slept for so long that another second would be dangerous. His heart beat rapidly as an uncomfortably warm buzzing washed over his body. It took him a while until he re-oriented himself, until he felt the warm, heavy hand on his shoulder. And when his senses started coming back to him, he found chaos. There was too much movement, too much noise, too much worry so thick in the air it was suffocating.

 

“Channie?” came Soonyoung’s gentle voice, breaking through Chan’s mental fog. “You okay?”

 

Chan heaved a heavy sigh of relief as he grounded himself, letting the older’s face come into focus. He let the familiar features soothe some of his burning nerves, and nodded, running a hand through his hair.

 

“What’s happening?”

“No time to explain. You need to see it.”

 

Everyone was gathered around the small TV, tuned into the news channel. In the room stood an impossibly tall person, pale as snow. He shot a questioning look at Soonyoung, clinging on to his sleeve with a sort of child-like fear. Chan had never seen this person before, and that made anxiety start to swirl in his mind.

“That’s Nephele. Don’t worry about them,” soothed Soonyoung, gently but urgently ushering Chan forward. The younger heaved a brief sigh of relief; he remembered that name.

 

The air of dread diffusing into every inch of the room was undeniable. It made Chan gulp heavily as anxiety began once again tying knots in his stomach as though his organs were nothing more than stray pieces of rope. His blood all but caught flame when he glimpsed Seokmin, his step faltering as he bit down on his tongue to stop him from crying out. Seokmin at first glance appeared to be perfectly fine, but it only took a second more to notice the violent shakes and spasms that were wracking his body in waves. Hansol and Seungkwan were both holding his hands as each wave crashed over him, lacing their fingers together, hoping each forceful spasm would be the last.

 

Chan opened his mouth to ask what was going on, and promptly shut it when the image of a reporter came on screen. Instead, he did as the others did, listening to each and every word coming out of the reporter's mouth.

 

 

“Early this morning, the Minister of Mutant Control, Lee Kyungmin, gave a public address, outlining a new development in Tenso’s mutant issue.”

 

The shot cut to Kyungmin standing before a podium, surrounded by several microphones, and try as he might, Chan couldn’t stop the shudder that ran through him.

 

“We are calling for amnesty between us and the mutants hiding in the capital of Tenso. This city and all its occupants are directly under threat from a group of violent, hostile mutants looking to disrupt the peace and security we live in. We have made attempts to neutralise this threat alone, but despite our best efforts, the mutants in question managed to slip away. It is for this reason that we are asking for all civilians’ assistance, mutant or non. Should you know of or witness any suspicious activity, be sure to inform us. Any mutants who do so have my full, personal guarantee that they will be offered any and all protection they should need.”

 

“He’s lying through his fucking teeth,” hissed Jihoon, his voice laced with spite and anger. Jeonghan slipped his hand into Jihoon’s gloved one, letting Jihoon play with his fingers to soothe his frustration. Blind rage was the last thing any of them needed.

 

“However, I should warn you,” Kyungmin looked straight into the camera as the words left his mouth. “This group is highly dangerous. They are ruthless, cruel, and I know this more than most, having lost my only son at the hands of their brutality…”

 

 

Chan couldn’t hear anything after that, the heartbeat in his ears growing more and more deafening. Every muscle in his body tensed up painfully and it was all he could do not to scream from the pain and the scorching heat under his skin. He held onto the hem of his shirt with a grip so tight it was a miracle he hadn’t torn through the fabric.

 

“He probably didn’t even notice I was missing until someone pointed it out,” he muttered to himself through grit teeth, voice so quiet his words were inaudible.

 

“Chan?” whispered Mingyu, gently cupping the nape of the younger’s neck. “Is anything wrong?”

Chan looked up and shook his head, hoping nothing in his face gave away the excruciating pain he was feeling.

“The kid’s a strong one Gyu,” praised Minghao, shooting Chan a small, warm, but worried smile.

The effort it took to plaster on a small smile in return left Chan almost breathless.

 

 

Nephele sighed as they shut off the TV.

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance they’re telling the truth?”

“About giving mutants protection?” scoffed Seungcheol. “Definitely not, that was a blatant lie. Seeing all what they’ve done already, I don’t think they’d hesitate to hurt anyone who comes to them.”

 

There was a beat of silence, and all was still, save for the trembling of Seokmin’s breath. The spasms had stopped, leaving his body drained and his mind fighting to stay alert.

 

“Okay,” started Jeonghan, shifting uncomfortably, “What’s the plan?”

“Perhaps this is a sign,” muttered Nephele, their eyes far away, deep in thought.

“Of what?” started Seungcheol, his tone guarded. His heart dropped because he knew _exactly_ where this conversation was going.

“That we should move to the suburbs after all.”

“Nephele, no. I promise you nothing good will come from it.”

“Seungcheol you worry too much about this…”

“Of course I’m going to worry! I’m sorry but after everything we’ve gone through so far you can’t expect us to throw it all away as if it meant nothing.”

“It’s more dangerous than ever, Seungcheol. We cannot stay here anymore.”

“If it’s more dangerous than ever what makes you so sure that we’ll even make it to the fucking suburbs?”

 

“Seungcheol…” warned Joshua, and when Seungcheol turned towards him, he gave him a careful look. Though Seungcheol hadn’t realised it, his voice had risen a tone too far, and as much as they all disagreed with them, they didn’t want Nephele to shut down on them. It was too serious, too critical a time, and every second was worth millions.

 

“It’s a risk we have to take,” continued Nephele, entirely ignoring Joshua’s interruption.

“Bullshit,” spat Seungcheol, struggling to keep his voice from rising. “We’ve moved enough times for me to know that it’s worth fucking nothing. We’d all have to split up for such a big move and that means we’re already doomed.”

“What would you prefer Seungcheol?” retorted Nephele bitterly as everyone looked on in shock. It was the first time they’d seen the cloud child visibly angry. On second thought, it was the first time they’d seen them show any sort of emotion.

“Would you prefer we try to do something to stay alive or that we stay here waiting for certain death. Those people are scared of nothing and that makes them dangerous.”

“What would I prefer? I’d rather we stay here and die fighting than die running like helpless cowards because I _know_ we’re more than that. The only reason they’re not scared of anything is because they know everyone’s scared of them, and it’s time someone changed that. This isn’t the kind of problem you can ignore until it’s over Nephele, because the only way it’ll end nice and quiet is if they get what they want from us and slit our fucking throats.”

“I didn’t expect you to be so willing to put one of your dear friends in the direct line of fire Seungcheol,” laughed Nephele, voice laced with bitterness.

 

“Whether or not he’s willing means nothing,” started Wonwoo, placing a supportive hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder. “We’d all follow him into the flames of hell and after so long you should know that. And we all know the world would burn before he lets anything hurt us.”

 

Seungcheol smiled back at Wonwoo, turning to look at every single one of his friends, of his family.

“You can leave if you want to Nephele, but my boys and I are staying here. If I have to become the villain in your eyes to do what needs to be done, I will. I’m not letting anyone else get hurt anymore.”

 

His eyes settled on Chan, giving him a small smile. When he saw the state the youngest was in, he frowned, but Chan simply shook his head and smiled back, albeit weakly.

 

Nephele was silent, almost for too long, until they sighed, defeated. “Very well Seungcheol. I see that this conversation is nothing more than a waste of time. I will leave with everyone else who is willing. I trust that you will do all you can to remain safe.”

“You know we will. I hope you know that this is the only way I can help you, because you _need_ to hear the truth Nephele and I’d rather you hear it from me. Oh, and a piece of advice, if any government official comes up to you, run like hell.”

 

Nephele smirked, and took their leave without another word, leaving the group alone in the grim silence.

 

 

“So,” started Seungkwan, clearing his throat. “We’re alone in this now.”

“We have each other, and that’s enough. We’re not alone,” reassured Seungcheol, finally letting his shoulders sag from the exhaustion.

 

 

Throughout everything, Chan felt as though he were dying. He was barely keeping himself together, barely keeping his screams of agony safely trapped behind his tightly clamped lips. Every single one of his blood vessels seemed as though it was on fire, the heat almost burning holes through the walls. With every beat of his heart, the fire spread to every inch of his body, like a volcano spewing lava. It was as though the pain he’d felt over the past few days had accumulated and attacked his body all at once, and it was so bad that he was petrified, doing everything he could just to keep his eyes open.

 

It was a matter of time before he wouldn’t be able to do it anymore.

 

 

“Chan?” said Hansol softly. His pupils were dilated, and his nerves tingled with soft electricity. It was a sensation he rarely felt, but he knew exactly what it meant.

 

“Oh my God… Chan you’re-”

 

 

Chan didn’t get to hear the rest, and neither did anyone else. All at once, the world went black, and he fell into the inky abyss. The only thing his conscious mind registered before it succumbed to the pain and to the darkness was the worried and panicked cries of his name as hands desperately grabbed at his burning, limp form.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reason for this being so short is that it was initially meant to be a far longer chapter. But then I thought, where's the fun if I don't leave it on a cliffhanger? (Forgive me!)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for supporting this fic! Comments and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
>  
> 
> [♡](https://twitter.com/ghiblisbox)


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